


Some help, Bambi?

by Kinns



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Denial of Feelings, Falling In Love, Friendship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, madrid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-10-13 06:40:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17483075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinns/pseuds/Kinns
Summary: Fuck off Thumper, I can handle myself.Or: Pogba and his best friends decide to spend a week in Madrid. He did not expect to meet his soulmate.





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> Yeah, still on Pogba huh, because it's my biggest crush in case it was not clear yet. I've had this idea for a while, I hope you'll like it.  
> Also, Pogba speaks French, English, Spanish and Italian, but I don't so as he understands all these languages, I will just write in English. I don't know if Jesse and Marcus can really speak Spanish, but it's a fic so let's do it anyway!  
> Enjoy!

"Beans, cuddle me."

In their shared flat, bad plans always started like this: Paul and Marcus were in the living room in front of the TV and Jesse came to claim his boyfriend's arms.

In this case, Rashford was slumped on the couch, the TV on a series A match, and played on his cell phone, while Pogba was talking on the phone with a friend from Turin. Lingard was coming back late enough from his last catch-up before their week of vacation. Paul was not sure whether he had succeeded or not, but preferred to stick around in case he still offers a shitty idea.

Without looking up from his phone, Marcus lifted his arm and greeted his twenty-six-year-old man on his lap, snuggled against his chest, sheltered from the Mancunian cold and automatically caressed his back. He did not say anything for four minutes, so Paul lowered his guard and focused totally on his conversation with his friend, turning in their American living room.

"I want to go back to Paris."

Since Paul had moved in with them two and a half years earlier, his mother had come to Manchester several times and they had visited her a couple of time, but that was enough for Jesse to fall (motherly) in love with Yeo and wanted to go there as soon as possible.

"Por qué?" Marcus answered.

The Spanish made him raise his head, looking almost supplicating.

"I want to go to Spain. Let's go to Spain, Beans."

"Paul speaks Spanish fluently."

The young man turned his head towards the couple to stare at them. It started exactly like that, Jesse throwing ideas in the air because of fatigue, Marcus approving them immediately and Paul suffering them.

"It must be warmer there."

"Yes, I look at the flights and the accommodations."

_What was happening?_

"Dybi, espera. Jesse, Rashy, what are you doing?"

"And that's Paulo's native language," Jesse added.

"He has no re-sit exam next week, he could come with us."

"Two Hispanic, perfect. Send him a message."

"Marcus, no," Paul said.

"Already done."

"Pogba, tu amigo pregúntame si quería ir a Madrid."

"Dybi, diga no."

"He said yes," Marcus announced.

"Perfect, we're leaving tomorrow."

"No we don't," Paul tried.

"The prices are really cheap if we leave at six o'clock tomorrow, I reserve them."

"We eat and in bed?"

"We eat and in bed."

"No, don't 'we eat and in bed' me! We do not go to Madrid tomorrow, nobody reserves tickets for me!"

"Por qué?"

Marcus's question had a strange echo with Paulo's. Jesse reached for him and Paul rolled his eyes, then handed him his phone. Sadly, Jesse exchanged with Paulo based on a pitiful mixture of English and Spanish. It was madness, what did they want to do in Madrid?

Jesse's victorious smile made him groan as he retrieved his phone.

"You really are a traitor, Dybi."

"In Italian, really? Come on Paul, we're going to have fun, we've not seen each other for a long time, I miss you."

"You just have to come to Manchester."

"Ne. Ver. See you tomorrow!"

Paul rubbed his eyes and sighed in frustration. He knew he was being had, it was not the first time it happened. As Jesse began to cook, a big word when it came to warming up the dishes Paul had made, Marcus was packing their bags.

Well. Apparently, he was leaving for Madrid tomorrow.


	2. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey...  
> Sorry, usually I update both French and English versions of my work, but I did something really stupid (not once, nor twice, but three damn times!) that delayed me so here we are. I didn't save my work and correct on the site, and it didn't save it because of a damn freeze! (i don't know if I'm clear, but who cares?)  
> Anyway, here is the first chapter.  
> Enjoy!

The awakening was really difficult that morning. Or rather tonight. Paul turned in his bed to catch his phone and turn it off, not daring to believe that he had set an alarm so early, why did he do that? He just wanted to sleep...

“Paul? Wake up.”

He growled again and turned his back to the person who came to disturb him, ready to go back to sleep. Life was never soft with him, so a weight collapsed next to him, made him jump and swear angrily.

“Paul, wake up! We're leaving soon! You should eat something before we go.”

Paul rubbed his face to remember where he was and the language spoken, then the information went up to his brain: his roommate was lying next to him, because they had to leave to fly to Madrid, their flight was at six o'clock.

“Jesse?”

“Yes it's me, wake up, we're leaving soon, okay?”

Jesse was whispering and talking sweetly to him, which never happened because he was a noisy bastard, but he seemed to understand that Paul could not get as much energy at four in the morning.

“I do not want to leave," he stammered.

“We are going to see Paulo, are you sure you do not want to come?"

Jesse was deliberately playing with his feelings, because he knew that he missed Paulo immensely even though they had only lived together for a year. They phoned as soon as possible, sent messages to each other and Paul loved his brother as his true brother.

“On my way…”

“I already had breakfast, Marcus took care of everything, ok? We're leaving in thirty minutes, is it good for you?”

“Yes.”

It was not like he really had a choice. Jesse stroked his back, then left. After a yawn, he stretched out: Lord, he was exhausted.

 

The trip to the airport was a complete blur for Paul. He did not remember what he did after Jesse left, but he regained consciousness when the cold Mancunian hit him, arrived at his destination. He can not tell if they had taken a taxi, an uber or whether Jes or Marcus had driven.

In any case, they had arrived. They had all their crap in their luggage, or rather Jesse took care of it because Paul and Marcus still had a little head in their ass. What an idea to take their flight at six o'clock too...

Before leaving, Paul had the good habit of calling Paulo, it was out of the question that he left without making sure that his friend was ready too. The Turinese answered on the first ring:

“Pogba! Qué tal?”

“Dybi! Good and you? Did I wake you up?”

“No, I'm just out of the shower. Are you already at the airport?”

“Yes, we're going to board. We go through Amsterdam, and we arrive in Madrid around noon.”

“Nice! My flight leaves at half-past ten, I meet you at about five pm.”

“Alright, we’ll pick you up, as we know you do not speak Spanish very well...”

Paulo laughed at him, told him to shut up and hung up. Paul smiled and put away his cell, reassured to see him soon. What did they have to fear from Madrid anyway?

“Guys! Let’s take a selfie!”

Jesse was not stressed at all, Paul thought as he approached him.

 

 

Since it was just a short-flight, they had no screen for movies and played cards. Thanks to a few friends in France, he knew a pack of card games, it had occupied them during the flight.

Once in Amsterdam, Jesse asked to redo a group selfie, while Paul proposed to go around the airport before going to check in for the flight to Madrid, which was leaving in one hour. They were eager to set foot in Spain, none of them had ever been there.

“Make a video call with Paulo!”

Paul laughed, but still called his friend. The latter picked up on the third ring, a sign that he was busy; Paulo always answered quickly when he saw that he was calling.

“Miss me already?”

“Always!” He affirmed, laughing. “Well, they wanted to see you!”

Paul showed Jesse and Marcus next to him who greeted Paulo with great gestures. The older man began to speak Spanish and English, while his boyfriend made fun of his accent. Paul understood everything he wanted to say, it was easy to interpret.

Jesse asked when he was leaving and Paulo replied that he was also in his line to catch his first flight. A little more comfortable, Marcus wanted to know what time he was going to arrive, Paulo looked at his ticket to make no mistake and they were all going down from their flight at the same time, after twelve hours. With the difference that Dybala had a stop of two and a half hours in France.

Paul's opinion? Too long!

"Guys, I'll call you back when I land, see you!”

“Bye!”

The Argentinean hung up after a big smile, while they themselves went in the queue to take the plane. Paul was eager to set foot in Spain!

 

 

“It's fucking cold.”

This was the first general thought.

Even if it was not so cold, it was almost sunny, so they had to deal with their disillusionment in order to appreciate the temperatures of Madrid, which are already higher than the Mancunian ones.

A picture put on social networks, they left the airport to go to the city.

“I booked an entire apartment, the week is much cheaper than home," Marcus said. "It's not in town, the metro is quite extensive so it will be fine.”

When it came to please his boyfriend, Marcus was able to organize a lot of things. Paul didn't often have the opportunity to see that side of his personality, understand his surprise that almost everything was already settled.

On their wedding day, Paul was sure that Jesse would only pretend to help and leave all the work to Marcus.

“Why didn't you book at the hotel?”

“Until shown proof to the contrary, we are students, not some rich footballers.”

 

The apartment was in a suburb of Madrid, while staying in a fairly quiet area. Paul finalized all the details, since he understood better than the other two and took the keys of their owner of the week. They were going to live on the fifth floor in the building, with just three rooms (the distribution was obvious), a gigantic bathroom, as well as a large kitchen mixed in the living room where a large worktop served as a dining table and a large balcony with a dining table (yes, for sure they will eat on it).

“Very good choice Beans, someone earned a blowjob and it is not Pogs.”

Paul turned to stare at Jesse, though it was clearly not the first time he'd done that, while Marcus should be blushing.

“We have to get Dybi, are you serious?”

“Do not worry, we have plenty of time.”

Jesse grabbed his boyfriend's hand to drag him into the furthest room and closed the door behind them. With a desperate sigh, Paul dropped into the big sofa in the living room and put his earphones on. Even though his two friends were not noisy, he preferred to avoid hearing anything embarrassing.

Weird, Paulo had not called yet, maybe he had forgotten, but it was not his style. It was barely one o'clock, he was still waiting an hour and three quarters before boarding. Paul dialed his number and made a video call.

“Pogba!  _Je suis en France! Paris c’est magique!”_

Paul giggled, how many times had he read, seen, or heard this sentence? Paris was only magical for tourists, not for those who lived in the suburbs.

"Yes of course. How did you work it out? Did you remember the sentences I taught you?"

"Of course!  _Bonjour, ça va? Merci, avec plaisir. J’aime tes yeux, je peux avoir plus de nourritures? Tantine Yeo est la meilleure_. Besides, look who's with me!"

Paulo tilted his screen to show him the famous person and Paul opened his mouth wide, pleasantly surprised to see his own mother.

“Mum? What are you doing there?”

“Paulo told me that he was going to France, I have not seen him for a long time, so I took the opportunity to see another of my sons!”

Paulo whispered something in Spanish that made her burst out laughing. But how could they communicate together? They did not even speak the same language!

“Jesse decided to leave last night, it was not my idea!” He defended himself awkwardly.

The two allies mocked him, then Yeo continued:

“Flo and Mat will be very disappointed.”

Paul laughed in turn, imagining the heads of his brothers. The conversation went on between them, punctuated by French, Spanish and a little Italian.

 

 

It was five o'clock when Paul saw the people coming from Paris. He was finally going to see his little brother and best friend,  _finally_. A huge smile cracked his face when he saw the face so well-known and expected. He did not miss the expression on Dybala's face when he spotted him in the crowd and his heart was beating so much in his chest.

While they were a few meters away, Pogba walked towards him, dancing to the rhythm of the music in the airport, his lower lip wedged under his teeth. He held out his forefinger towards Paulo, with a "tss", who made the laugh, but the Argentinian imitated him and touched his finger. They burst out laughing after a few seconds and caught each other's arms.

“¡Paulito! ¡Mi hermanito!”

“Paul, I missed you!”

Jesse jumped on them and Marcus added to their strange hug, full of affection, joy, finally filled, and relief. Paulo was here, in his arms, at hand, after all this time. He missed his brother so much, the week was going to be great with him beside. They had to make up for lost time before next time.

They finally separated, but Paul kept his arm on Paulo's shoulders, close to him.

“Jesse, Marcus, my boys! Congrats! I'm so happy for you, here!”

Paulo handed them a bag that Jesse grabbed and took out a present. He gave it to Marcus and took Paulo in his arms, thanking him. Paul frowned.

“Why do they have to a gift? Why not me?”

After a quick hug with the young man of twenty-one, Paulo turned to him, with a raised eyebrow:

“You are still single, why would you have one?”

“Because you saw my mother? Then how did you manage to understand each other?”

Paulo raised his eyebrows, looking too mischievous not to prepare a bad joke.

“Bonds between mother and son, I'll explain to you one day.”

Dybala chuckled with the other two and dragged them to the exit of the airport to discover the city, ready to create beautiful memories with his best friend and roommates.

 

 

Before doing anything, they showed the apartment to Dybala. On entering on the left, there was the first bedroom, for Jesse and Marcus, while the living room was on the right. It was large, with a wall-mounted TV, two large sofas and a coffee table. There was a storage cabinet under the TV, but none of them was going to use it. Behind the couches, there was the kitchen area with the central island to eat. On the bottom part, a bay window overlooked the balcony.

Following the left wall, there was the bathroom with shower, bath, toilet and two sinks. After that, there were two doors at the back, one for the remaining rooms. The mix of red, orange and yellow was already hot, the week was starting well.

“Can we eat outside when it's hot enough?” Marcus asked.

Paul answered yes, at the same time as Paulo said no. The two friends stared at each other.

“Of course, we will. It's hot.”

“You're kidding? It's a lot hotter in Turin, so not happening.”

“You will take a blanket Dybi, but we will eat outside.”

“Manchester has changed you, I remember the time when you did not go out of your house without a coat if it was less than twenty-five degrees.”

Marcus giggled, as Paul felt betrayed that he revealed his weakness in the cold.

"How dare you, Dybi, I was chilly! Here, it's good.”

“No more Italian!”

They turned their heads like one man to Jesse, who was eating a fruit sitting on the worktop. He jumped to the ground and gave his fruit to Marcus, who crunched in without thinking twice.

“It's six pm, let's go to the ice rink!”

They all frowned: who was going to Madrid to skate? Paulo tugged on his sleeve, since he did not understand the English expression, so he quickly explained to him. The gleam of excitement in his eyes did not announce anything good:

“Oh, sounds good, I've never been there! Let's go!”

“That's what I wanted to hear!” Jesse agreed, tapping in his hand. “Beans, let's go!"

"Wait a minute," Paul replied. “We did not come here to do things we can do in Manchester.”

He folded his arms to keep his composure and stick to his opinion; what is the point of coming to Madrid to skate?

“You live in Man for two and a half years, have you ever been to the rink once?”

“… No.”

“Problem solved, let's go!”

"Come on Paul," Paulo added. “I've never done it, I can not imagine trying without you.”

Paul did not know how to say no to a Paulo bubbling with joy. With a sigh, he went to put his shoes and gear against the cold; namely gloves, a hat and two sweaters.

 

 

The Palacio de Hielo was not far from home by public transport, so they went there. The trip went quickly, they were just laughing, making fun of each other, going from one subject to another, to keep smiling. They did not know how the party would end, but it did not worry them, they were together and that was enough for them.

He traded his shoes for ice skates, that's when the problems started.

Basically, Paul did not know how to skate. Oh, he did it in elementary school and with his brothers, but he was bad at it. He was trembling, struggling to walk, refusing to let go of the railing and wanted to go back to the warmth of their apartment.

Did his friends succeed? Yes, totally: Marcus and Jesse were native English,  _of course_  they knew how to skate, it was in their blood (yes, Paul knew it was stupid), while Paulo was really good for someone who had never done it, it was almost unfair. But how can one be upset at his Argentinian friend, who was almost discovering the joys of the cold, like a child? They skated backwards, laughing like idiots, challenged each other on various skating moves, while Paul could not even walk without falling. You know what? It was really not fair.

In addition to that, the assholes skated very well since they arrived, thirty minutes earlier. They skated fast  _and_  backward, jumped, stopped at once, throwing snow at the people around, and Paul wanted to tear their heads off. He was bad and knew it, no need for a pro spitting his talent mouth!

After another fall, Paul inhaled to restrain his tears of frustration. OK, it was over for him, he would just watch Paulo, Jesse and Marcus have fun from the stands.

“Need some help, Bambi?”

Paul noticed that one of the so-called pro had stopped in front of him and held out his hand to help him get up. He narrowed his eyes, not in the mood to speak Spanish:

“Fuck off Thumper, I can handle myself.

The French answer seemed to surprise and amuse the guy, because he smiled and grabbed his hand anyway to help him. Ah very well, visibly the people of Madrid helped people without asking their opinion, it made him want to break legs.

“Have you ever done rollerblading, Bambi? Because skating is exactly the same. Come on, I'll teach you.”

This time, it was Paul who was surprised: he bugged while watching the guy, then chuckled and accepted the help; he was not that proud and accepted help to improve himself. One hand on the cover and the other in the hand of the unknown, he advanced slowly.

“You're French?” Paul asked him.

Outside of holiday periods, what were the liabilities of meeting a French speaker in Madrid?

“Yeah, but I have been living in Spain for nine years, and you? I can hear you speak English since just now.”

“I study in England.”

“It is rare to meet such cute French people at the ice rink at this time of the year.”

And Paul was not going to get up, he nodded distractedly, concentrating on his feet so he could move on without falling. Meanwhile, Jesse, Marcus and Paulo were on the idiots on the ice sliding on one foot.

“Do you know why children progress so quickly?”

Paul looked up at Thumper and really observed him this time: it was a brunet, smaller than him, with sparkling blue eyes and a pleasant smile.

“No?”

“Because they are not afraid to fall. They try, fall and start again. The adults fall but focus on that and don’t start again. You look too young to take yourself seriously.”

Paul giggled, this guy was not serious, though? He was the youngest at home, he could never take himself seriously. Without realizing it, his muscles relaxed, and he followed Thumper's movement.

“Go on Bambi, you slide on one foot then the other, okay? That's what will give you impulsive.”

It was not what he had been doing since earlier? Paul looked at his feet and no, not at all, he did not do what Thumper said. As he squeezed his hand and padded it, he forced himself to follow his advice.  _And it worked!_ Paul felt himself moving faster, incredible. He laughed and looked up at Thumper.

“Hey, you’re good!”

“You saw, I get it!”

“Yeah, it's not bad. What's your name, cariño?”

“Paul!”

"Paul," he repeated. “Did you come for the holidays?”

“Yeah, more or less. Next week is the re-sit exam week, as none of us are there, we decided to go abroad.”

He could move on, soon he could skate with Jesse and the others, all thanks to Thumper. He smiled, truly relieved to succeed in such a difficult ordeal. To his surprise, the young man stopped, dropped his hand and smiled at him.

“You should hang on the ramp.”

Paul narrowed his eyes, but obeyed because this guy could not hurt him, right?

“Paul!”

“Pogs!”

Jesse always announced before jumping on him: he was not surprised to feel pushed by the older of their group and held a cry of surprise. After that, another shock made him creak. And one last to finish him.

Paul knew them well enough to know how they had fallen on him: Paulo, Jesse and Marcus. And these idiots laughed in his ears. He turned around: bingo.

“Pogs, are you progressing?” Jesse asked him in English.

“Not too hard to train Paul?”  Paulo replied.

"I've known worse," Thumper laughed.

“My name is Paulo and you?”

“Antoine.”

“Oh, a Frenchmen!”

So Thumper's name was Antoine, very French indeed. A hissing sound was heard from a guy who was skating backwards and it caught Antoine's attention.

“Lukito! ¡Ven aquí!”

The boy stopped moving (back, rather?) And patinated towards them smiling. He leaned against Antoine for their smile, "Hey! But his attention stopped on Paulo and he slipped up to him and put his hand against the railing beside his hip, blind to the rest of the world.

“Holà, guapo.”

 _Hi cutie_ , there was better as a pick-up line. But Paulo had a huge weak point for well-trimmed beards, native Hispanics, pretty faces and clichés, so yes, he fell for that.

“Ho-holà, how are you?”

“Fine; you have a foreign accent, where are you from?”

"Argentina," Paulo murmured shyly.

“I love it. Come, I'll teach you how to skate, cutie.”

With that, the famous Lukito took Paulo's hand and dragged him away without asking any questions. Wow, Paulo was really an easy guy, he was so lucky; Paul always fell on guys he did not like. Marcus also left, with Jesse behind him whistling, looking like he was saying "go for him, Pogs! ". Suuuure.

But no. He was not interested in this guy.

“Did your friend really pick on mine like this?”

"Seems like it, yeah," Antoine laughed. “Do you want to continue the skating lesson or are you good enough?”

Paul was not _that good_ , but he was not interested enough in Antoine to give him hope.

“I think it’d be fine. I try on my own and if I fall, it is that the skate is not for me.”

“Don’t worry cariño, I keep an eye on you to come to your rescue.”

Then Antoine _winked_  at him before leaving. It is 2019, who still winks to flirt?

As expected, Paul fell while he was trying to skate on his own, so he left the track and settled in the stands with his ice skates to watch Paulo flirt with  _Lukito_ , while playing with Marcus and Jesse.

Madrid? Yeah, great destination.

He still took pictures of these morons because they deserved to have memories of their trip abroad. He approached the edge to better take them and facilitate the discussion with his roommates.

“Have you given up?”

Paul jumped and turned to the voice; Antoine, of course.

“I had my amount of falls for the evening.”

Antoine smiled at him with all his white teeth and slipped to lean against him. His childlike face was cute, but not his kind.

“Where do you come from, cariño?”

“Manchester, it's far, do you know it?”

“Oh. You have two football teams up there, no? As in Madrid.”

“Exact, United and City; United fan. I like Atlético.”

In Manchester, the few who followed La Liga preferred Real Madrid, so Paul loved to say that he preferred the other team to create conflict. Against all odds, Antoine smiled at him:

“I work at the stadium of Atlético, in the souvenir shop, you should come and take a look to have some not very expensive or free products.”

Paul chuckled for lack of a better answer. He did not feel like turning someone down now, he liked him.

“If we need help to move in the city, we will see you. Don’t you have other friends to go see?”

“Yea I have some, but they are not as cute as you.”

Antoine smiled at him once more, then left. And Paul was not making movies, right? Antoine flirted openly with him. He was not  _cute_ , he was  _sexy_. He had worked his body too hard to be told he was just cute.

OK, enough played, where were those idiots of friends when he wanted to leave?

 

 

“Where are we going? I'm really hungry!”

“And I'm cold, any place is good!”

“Beans, do something!”

“There is a pub-restaurant not very far, is it good for you all?”

 

The band settled there and ordered a dish of the day, determined to eat Spanish for the week. While waiting for their dish, they questioned Paulo about his meeting with the young man of earlier.

“Have you met the man of your life?” Paul smirked.

“Who, Lucas? No, he is... He is...”

He searched for his words, his eyes blank, a conquered smile on his lips, dreamy. Paul had lived almost twenty-four with him for a year, so he immediately recognized this shattered air of love:

“You’re interested!”

"No," Paulo pathetically denied.

"You bad liar," Jesse laughed. “You like him!”

“What about you, Paul? How did it go with Anthony? Antonio?”

“ _Antoine_ and he was absolutely not my type,” he affirmed after a sip of water. “Unlike you and  _Lukito_!”

“Paul!”

Paul laughed at seeing his best friend blush with embarrassment. In Turin, none of them had flirted with other people, it was an opportunity to learn more about Paulo about it.

"Did you get his number, at least?” Marcus asked.

“I... No, I...”

His face rippled when he seemed to remember that he could have taken his number and he dropped his head against the table, disgusted. Paul laughed, stroking his back, a little disappointed for him. Too bad for him, he missed a hell of a chance.

The waitress set down a plate of tapas that they had ordered, and Paul quickly lost interest in Paulo's heartbreak. if they were meant to be together, they would end up in one way or another.

Jesse devoted himself to be the first to taste and he made a strange grimace between astonishment, disgust and joy. Paul raised an eyebrow, surprised that it was possible. Marcus rolled his eyes after a few seconds of waiting for his reaction, then ate in his turn. Dybala finally looked up, smiled at the food and did not waste a minute.

Apparently it was good enough, Paul put a tapas in his mouth and it was not bad, probably surprising, but really not bad. While he was still using, and Jesse was arguing with Paulo for a tapas in particular, Marcus spoke up:

“I'm on a tourist site, do you want to go somewhere tomorrow?”

“What are the places?”

Anyway, Paul was the only one to pay attention, they would plan the route to two, that's all.

“Tour of museums, Templo de Debod, El Palacio Real, nice places, library of Athénée, football stadiums, that of Atlético was renovated two years ago...” Ah, Antoine worked there, they could have a look around. “... Warner Madrid, the San Miguel Market, and other stuff.”

Paul looked dubiously at Jesse, who was arguing in English, and Paulo answering in Spanish; he was not going to get involved, so much the better if they got along like that.

“I propose the Warner Madrid on weekdays, it shouldn't be very full."

“Thursday?"

"If it's too soon, we won't get enough of the rest," Paul said.

“Yeah, sounds nice. And tomorrow, what do we do? We'll be Monday.”

“We can make the museums tour and go to the places you mentioned.”

Marcus scrolled his screen, before answering: "Puerto del Sol Square and Plaza Mayor?"

“Yeah. It looks good, we came to discover the city, it will be cool.”

“We absolutely have to see the stadiums of Madrid!” Marcus decreed with a big smile.

Paul laughed, approving his choice; they were not pro footballers, but they knew how to kick a ball and had a crazy passion for the sport all four.

“Oh, look if there are futsal fields, it will be nice to go there.”

Marcus tapped on his cell phone and Paul decided to settle the disagreement between Jesse and Paulo in the most adult way: he ate the tapas that both coveted.

“So, like that nobody will have it, no jealous. Method tested and approved by my mother.”

Marcus chuckled, Paul smiled, proud of his turn, and the others were annoyed. Their dishes finally arrived for their greatest happiness.

Spanish food was very different from English cuisine, less in appearance and more in quantity; the taste was excellent, Paul had nothing to complain about, but they were less preoccupied with the presentation.

Around twenty-two, the restaurant seemed to turn into a bar and Paul loved this multi-use side. Spaniards ordered glasses at the pub, while eating and laughing, a match on TV attracted the attention of some, but nothing more. Paul followed the results distractedly as Marcus and Jesse exchanged words of love (with a lot of mockery). Each in turn they paid their tapas tour, bringing back a loaded and varied platter to test everything there was.

As they finished the Marcus tray, the waitress put a glass in front of Paulo, who frowned.

"I didn't order anything," he said.

“I know,” she said with a big smile. “It's the guy at the pinball, behind the football table who paid you.”

She gave him a huge wink, then left. They all looked at the glass, mixed, then stared at Paulo, who lifted his hands.

“What?”

"Did you pick someone up at the bar without telling us?” Paul asked.

“No, not at all, I don't know where it comes from!”

"A guy interested in your pretty brown eyes, apparently," Jesse laughed.

“You found your sugar daddy.”

“Shut it, Paul.”

"You should go," Marcus said. “If you like him, you’ll be able to meet someone, if not too bad.”

Dybala cast an almost beseeching glance at his best friend, but Pogba tapped his back laughingly, pushed him out of his chair, put the glass in his hands and gestured to the football table.

“You just want to get rid of me.”

"You're right," Jesse laughed. “I wanted a threesome and two Paul or Paulo would have been too weird, even for me.”

Jesse's English went beyond Paulo's understanding, who imitated him in Spanish, stick out his tongue to them, and went to find his mysterious sender. The place was crowded, but it was not cumbersome, and he could move between people as he pleased. In addition, everyone spoke Spanish, although the accent was not the same as at home, but it was already reassuring.

Anyway, he was living in Turin for his studies, he could not accept the glass of the unknown, Paulo would tell him clearly that he was not interested and if things got complicated, he would speak Italian and would say he was couple with Pogba.

Honestly? Everything would be fine, he would have to be firm and not be too nice, it should be enough. Shit, he still hoped he was a pretty guy because he would not say no to shooting with a Spaniard.

Paulo immediately recognized the three-quarter shape, the haircut, the  _beard_  , the hips... He nibbled on his lower lip, checked that there was no other pinball because it would be embarrassing if not, and went as far as him, smiling.

How to approach him? The cool play? Make him a surprise? To arrive by sipping the drink and tell him that he wanted to play too (which was totally wrong)? Should he approach him later in the evening or send him a drink to say he was interested? Because he was clearly interested in him.

 _Dear God_ , Paulo was so terrible at that.

“Lukito!”

Curious, the pinball player turned to find out who called him, but his gaze stopped on Paulo, who had jumped at the call. For the effect of surprise, he’ll pass. Lucas gave him a huge smile, happy to see him again.

“Well, did you intend to leave without saying anything now? So, did you taste the cocktail? It's insane, I like it.”

Seeing his cheeks red with embarrassment, Lucas burst out laughing and turned to the pinball machine, while Paulo approached slowly taking the straw in his mouth to taste; it was alcoholic...

“Have you ever played?”

Paulo took a sip and shook his head, leaning against the top of the pinball machine. Lucas smiled at him.

“It is not very complicated, wanna try?”

Paulo walked over to Lucas to see how he was doing, forgetting his previous resolutions.

 

At the other end of the bar, the other guys assumed that everything was going well as there was no scream. Paul devoted himself to take a new set, hoping to see who the mysterious sender of the glass was. He pointed absently at tapas they had not tasted yet, hesitating over some who did not look good.

“You shouldn't take this one, Bambi.”

Damn, are you kidding?

Paul lifted his head from the window and met Thumper's sparkling blue eyes, or Antoine, and his amused smile. What was the likeliness they cross each other? The bar was next to the rink, it made sense that they both come there. So, if Antoine was there, it meant that... He knew who sent the glass to Paulo now.

“Thumper? OK, what do you advise me?”

“The little hamburger, it's really good.”

What did he have to lose? He showed the salesgirl what he wanted last on the set and took out his wallet, but Antoine got ahead of him.

“Leave it to me, it's on me.”

Antoine winked at him with a dazzling smile and Paul burst out laughing. Well, if it was also kindly offered, Paul was not going to say no to free food.

When Paul arrived with him, Jesse froze before displaying a sly smile and Marcus behaved properly, since there was only one well-behaved person in their relationship.

“Holà! How are you?”

“Fine and you? You’re the guy from earlier, Anthony?"

Paul slid onto the bench, already knowing that Jesse could say embarrassing things by being him. Maybe Marcus would be on his side and not his boyfriend’s...

“No, Antoine. Eat, it's on me.”

“I thought you were not interested.” Marcus said in English to Paul.

“M not, can not hurt him to buy it, y'know?”

Paul knew it was bastard behavior to speak English while Antoine did not seem to master the language, but Marcus had started. Jesse seemed to think like him as he tapped Rashford's ribs.

“Beans, stop being rude and speak Spanish with  _Antoine_.”

“Paul started it.”

"No, I didn’t, shut up," Paul replied.

With a low level of Spanish Jesse tried to chat with Antoine, while Paul did not even try to put him at ease and ate for free. Marcus tapped him in the shin when he noticed his total disinterest and nodded toward Antoine. He looked at him with a frown, then returned to Marcus.

Did he miss something?

“Yes?”

“Translator, please,” Antoine smiled.

He narrowed his eyes as he smiled and his cheeks blushed adorably as he plunged his blue irises into his. Paul had to escape his eyes when he heard his roommates’ laughter.

Antoine was perhaps not his type, but Paul recognized that he had something attractive.

“What? What’s wrong with you two, dumbasses?”

"You're so funny Paul," Jesse replied in English. “You're lucky the guy does not speak our language, I would have told him all your nasty little secrets.”

“Hey, no English, try to speak Spanish, you’re in Spain!”

Fortunately Anthony reminded them to behave, otherwise Paul would probably have replied something like careful Jess, I know where you hide your lubes' or ‘shut up, you slut'. Instead, he smiled at Antoine, then addressed the others:

“He’s right, we didn’t come to Madrid to speak English. What were you talking about?”

“Wait, I did not even ask your first names,” Antoine realized.

“The tiny one is Jesse, the other is Marcus, his boyfriend.”

Jesse and Marcus raised an eyebrow in his direction, as if he had just said something wrong, but everything was just right now, right?

“Pogs, Marcus is no longer 'my boyfriend'.”

He frowned, and even Antoine could hardly believe it; what was he saying? Without exchanging a glance, the two young men pulled a chain around their necks, hidden under their t-shirts and their eyes widened.

_Rings? Fucking engagement rings?_

"We're engaged," Marcus explained.

“Oh, congratulations!” Antoine Exclaims. “Since when?”

“Yeah, since  _when_? Why didn't I know?”

Jesse shook his head, disappointed but not surprised.

“I told you Beans, he wouldn't remember. We put it on snapchat and insta, we _told_ you Paul. We got engaged in November.”

“Ah, during the M crisis, you knew that I was half conscious at this time.”

"Not my problem," Jesse shrugged.

“That's why Paulo gave you a present this morning?”

"Yes," Marcus replied with an indulgent smile. "He gave us the necklaces."

“And how did you meet? Are you alma gemela?”

The couple watched Antoine and Paul to translate, but he did not know that word.

“T’as dit quoi ?” He asked in French.

“Alma gemela ? C’est âme-sœur.“

“Ah. Soulmates, guys. Are you two soulmates?”

 “Oh. Yes,” Jesse said with a smile full of love.

It was one of the few times that Jesse looked so dazzling and radiant with happiness. How did Paul miss out on their commitment? November had been a really difficult time with the famous M crisis.

Jesse, Paul and Marcus were in the same department at college, although Marcus was in a different branch. The delegate of their department was Antonio Valencia, but he had only the title since as soon as there was a problem, Pogba undertook to go to see the head of the branch, Jose  _Mourinho_  and it was the war between them.

If at first, when Paul arrived in Manchester two and a half years ago, everything went well, it changed six months before today, in August. He no longer remembered what created the problem and the tension between them, but they could no longer bare each other and as soon as they could rot their life, they did so.

For the M crisis? Before November, they were subtle in their war, but Paul had perhaps openly opened the hostilities unintentionally. Long story short, this situation had made him sick and he had wanted to leave the school without being sure he could do it, it was horrible. Pogba was one of the best, the administration had to intervene so that he did not leave and it had almost got worse, he wanted to break everything and hold back crying almost every day, spending his time on the phone with Paulo, his mother or his brothers to avoid the nerves, tears or anxiety attacks.

Fortunately, Mourinho was fired and replaced by a great guy.

But Paul went astray.

“Ah Lukito, how are you?”

“Fine, it's cool! We brought something to eat!”

Paulo and Lucas settled down with two trays full of food and beers. Well. Paulo sat on the bench of Jesse and Marcus, while Lucas pushed Antoine towards him. And he wanted to go home now. A glance at the youngest of the group allowed him to understand that he was tired; at this time Marcus was in his bed usually...

Well, Paul was going to be a little mean to justify their departure. He did that for Rashy, nothing else.

“You pay for your stuff without problem, but how old are you to have so much money? Fifteen, twenty?”

Jesse and Paulo giggled, while Paul smiled at the two Spaniards, who laughed.

“You are not cool Paul, how old do we seem to you?”

“I told you Antoine, maybe twenty years, no more.”

Antoine smiled, looking at the table, his youthful face betraying his true age. He could not even tell who was the older of the two... Lucas looked at Paulo's and replied:

“How old am I, cariño?”

Paulo crossed his arms on the table and smirked, amused.

“Hum... Twenty-four. You can not be older than that.”

His smile widened, while Antoine could not stop laughing; okay, Lucas was clearly not twenty-four.

"I'm sure you're twenty-five," Lucas replied, "Because you think I'm smaller than you.”

Wow.

They all laughed because he was right and he knew it.

"My turn," Jesse said. “Antoine, you must be twenty-three years, you look like a baby.”

Paul burst out laughing, clapping his hands, because it did not even surprise him, as the others smiled.

“Lost. Marcus, I'm sure you're the youngest... You met Jesse at school three and a half years ago, so you must be... twenty-one?”

They whistled in admiration, surprised that he had guessed right with what he understood of their relationship and Antoine laughed, proud of himself.

"Paul, you are twenty-seven," he continued.

“Him?” Jesse laughed at him. " _Him over there_?"

With friends like that, no need for enemies. Marcus poked at his boyfriend to calm him down, but Jesse hid his hilarity against his shoulder.

“Thank you, Lingard. Now you know that you had it wrong Antoine. Lucas, twenty-two years?”

“Yeah!” He exclaimed proudly, then he looked at Paulo. "Does it bother you?"

“Not at all. And I was right: you're under twenty-four.”

Paulo snickered without leaving his eyes and Paul had the urge to throw bread to him to stop looking stupidly in love. If the couple were discussing and Dybala began to talk to Lucas, Pogba was going to be alone with Antoine; it was out of the question.

"Dybi, wipe your mouth, you have sperm left," he told him in Italian.

"Shut up Paul and leave me alone.”

“No precisely, come on, look: Rashy is tired.”

Paulo glanced at Marcus, whom tiredness was as clear as crystal.

“You can speak Italian?” Lucas wondered.

"Yes," Paulo replied. “We study in Turin, I mean I still do and Paul left two and a half years ago for Manchester.”

“Incredible, I am impressed.”

“Dybi, it's embarrassing,” Paul said in Italian.

“Dios míos,  _Pogba_. Guys, we have to go back, okay? With the time difference, we are tired and... we gotta go home.”

“Oh…”

Why did both of them look so disappointed?

"Okay," Antoine agreed. “But how old are you in the end?”

"Jesse is twenty-six, I’m twenty-five," Paul said. “And you?”

Antoine looked astonished at his revelation, then nodded slowly.

“I am the eldest: twenty-seven.”

"Impossible, you are lying.”

Antoine snorted, accustomed to this kind of reaction, then took out his identity card; nobody ever believed him otherwise. Paul took it, still stunned that such a kid's head was actually older than him.

“Griezmann? Wow, a tough name for such a nice head.”

“Wait to see him on a football field,” Lucas warned.

“Yes, of course. Here, take your false ID back.”

Antoine raised his eyebrows, looking like, 'Did you see that?' while he looked like a teenager. Lucas slipped out of the bench to let them out, at the same time as those in front. Ah, look! Paul stretched, since he was very cramped, wedged between the wall and Antoine.

Pogba pretends not to have noticed Antoine's look as he stretches out and shows his lower abdomen unintentionally. OK, it was time to leave.

“You are cool lads, I hope we met again before we go,” he said anyway.

“Yeah, to visit the city or that kind of stuff,” Jesse added.

“Walk to Wanda Metropolitano, we work there sometimes.”

“You work at the Atlético stadium?” Marcus wondered. “It's so cool, we had planned to go there in the week, we'll see you there then!”

“Yeah, we will give you discounts.”

“Yes!”

They laughed affectionately, then Jesse and Marcus shook hands with them to leave, while the Pauls just waved at them; None wore gloves, no way they touch with bare hands without being sure to have met their soulmate.

As they walked in the cold to the subway, Paul nudged his best friend's ribs.

“Have you got Lucas's number this time?”

Paulo stopped immediately, his eyes wide open, then turned around without thinking twice. The couple stopped to wait for him, but Paul knew they were going to cook him.

“So, what's the deal with Antoine?”

“No deal.”

Jesse and Marcus exchanged a meaningful look, not buying it.

“He spent the evening stuck to you and sending you signals as big as Marcus's cock.”

“Jess!” The two men cried out.

“Anyway, you get it: the guy likes you.”

“So what? He's not my style, he doesn't meet any of my basic criteria.”

“You shut doors, Pogs.”

"You both have the same look, Paul.”

Paul narrowed his eyes, Marcus said things so weird sometimes. His eyes were brown, while Griezmann had them blue.

“Not at all.”

“Yes, you do, you'll realize soon.”

Marcus shrugged, indifferent to what could happen to Pogba. The conversation went no further, as footsteps drew their attention to Dybala, who ran back to them, the red face of smiling too much and the stars in their eyes.

Wow, his best friend was falling hard for Lucas.

“It's too funny, when I got to the bar, he was looking for me outside with his phone to get my number. He is so sweet.”

Sneering, Paul laid his arm on Paulo's shoulders. The day had been full of emotion and it was not even twenty-four hours they were there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still bad at English writing, so if anyone is willing to waste some time to teach me, it'll be great! :D


	3. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> Well, the game I've been waiting for a decade is finally out (yeaaaaa !!!!: D), I spent all my time on Friday night and I finished Wednesday, so joy! I can focus on my fic again, but actually, I'm going to start all over again because I'm that kind of sick.  
> KH3, the two of us!  
> In the meantime, here's chapter 2, sorry for not enough to center it on Pogmann while it must be the main couple, but hey I do what I want

The first one to wake up was Marcus, which was not surprising. Paulo started classes around nine o'clock every day, while Paul and Jesse always woke up at the last minute to maximize their sleep time. Only Rashford liked to take his time in the morning, or rather hated to hurry. On top of that, they had stayed awake later than Marcus, who had gone to bed when he arrived.

After a ride to the bathroom, Marcus found himself wandering in the living room like an aimless soul. For want of anything better, he decided to do what he was extremely good at: to please his soulmate. He searched the closets for a breakfast to make and smiled; Paul had gone shopping the day before, waiting for Paulo to arrive and to give them some privacy.

There were eggs, slices of hams, tomatoes, green tea, milk, flour... Ah, he could make pancakes too, Paul had taught him a few months after his arrival. He would make the breakfast cliché, Jesse loved eating it from time to time.

First the dough, since it was necessary to let it rest between thirty minutes and one hour. Marcus get a salad bowl and the ingredients, then started to work, putting music on his cell phone. While dancing, he finished his preparation and put a towel over it.

He jumped, looking up. Paul was staring at him from the bathroom, frowning.

"C’est trop tôt pour ça, Rashy.”

“Uh... sorry?”

Paul shook his head and went back to his bedroom. Marcus did not understand what Paul told him in French, but knew it had something to do with his musical choice, DUCKWRTH & Shaboozey's _Start a Riot;_ since ' _Into the spider-verse'_ was out, Marcus was listening to the soundtrack every morning... Yeah, probably not the best piece for waking up.

Marcus let the playlist go by, but kept only _Sunflower, Invincible, Hide, Memories, Let go, Scared of the Dark_ , turned down the sound and went back to the room with his other half. A soft smile appeared on his lips as he saw how he occupied half the bed.

Jesse was in a fetal position, wrapped in the quilt, his face relaxed and innocent. One of his hands clutched the sheets instead of Marcus. Damn it, he was so beautiful, bathed in the filtered sun light, his caramel skin seemed to glow almost where it was lit.

Connecting the Bluetooth speaker to his music, he lowered _Hide's_ volume enough to not cut off Jesse's quiet sleep, then put away the clothes that he had thrown to the floor before going to bed. Once finished, he returned to lie down with him and caressed his beautiful face, happy to see traces appear immediately after his touch, to disappear after a few seconds.

He kissed his lips but Jesse whined and fell on his back, his head turned to the other side. Marcus lifted himself on his forearms, gently placed his lips on the neck of his other half, smiling at each trace created and Jesse’s shivers.

“Baby, stop...”

Jesse liked to give nicknames to people, especially Marcus, but only called him that way when they were in the privacy of a room, completely alone. Marcus laid another kiss, "No..." then a second, "this morning..." again, "I'm eating you. "

Jesse whimpered happily, slipping a hand through his hair, and nodded to give Marcus more room.

“Eat me Rashy...”

It was in this kind of moment that Marcus was happy that Jesse only slept in underpants: he had full access to his chest. He slipped between his legs to leave ephemeral marks on his neck, chest, shoulders, nipples, hollow stomach... on each place that could accommodate his lips.

Jesse stammered his moans to the rhythm of the music without realizing it, his eyes closed to drown in the magical sensation of feeling his soulmate touch him and he was handsome. He clasped his hair with one hand and the second gripped the sheets near his head, sensitive to the slightest touch.

Arrived at his lower abdomen, Marcus lowered his boxer gently lifting his legs, a smile on the lips because of the traces that his fingers left on his delicate skin. Without resistance, he got rid of it, thought for a second to bend it now, " _Beans..._ " but preferred to concentrate on his other half.

Marcus spread his legs, making sure to wrap his arms around to block them, and nibbled the flesh near his exposed penis. Jesse could not hold back a loud groan of pleasure and a jolt as his teeth sank. If his fiancé did not keep him in place, he would have probably put a stroke of the pool too.

The young man sucked his skin a long time to leave a red mark, which he licked, savoring each stifled sigh of Jesse, the way his cute little voice sounded in the room, barely louder than the music.

Marcus straightened up to look at Jesse, his eyes closed to contain his pleasure, clinging to the sheets, his mouth open and his belly up and down quickly. His heart was beating fast and he was drowning in the pleasure, even though he had not done much, because Jesse was still overreacting to his touch in the morning, he was not going to complain about it.

His lenght was tense, waiting patiently to be touched and Marcus wanted to taste the forbidden fruit, so he did it he was not the type to tease Jesse early in the morning. Then he engulfed, pushing Jesse's hot flesh into his mouth at once, his throat accustomed to the sensation of stiffness and thickness.

“ _Aaah... Marcus...”_

Luckily, he held him in place, Jesse would have been able to fuck his mouth without mercy. He arched in a breath of pleasure, unable to hold up, calling his name like a sweet litany, looking for anything so as not to lose his footing. After long inspirations, he realized that Marcus would only move if he stopped shaking, so he forced himself to remain static.

Spreading his thighs to get a better grip, Marcus lifted his head, then lowered it to savor the feeling of his soulmate in him, enjoying each of his muffled cries, enjoying each involuntary hiccups, happy to see him effect he produced in Jesse.

Every time he was overwhelmed by emotion, Jesse could not hold back tears and during some sex sessions it was the same. Marcus loved to push him to the brink of tears, because he was even more handsome in showing himself as vulnerable and sensitive, he was sublime. His body reacted to each of his movements, perfectly matching his being, in perfect harmony.

Marcus kept falling back in love with him and if they had not been soulmates, it would not have changed anything.

With a long tearful squeak, Jesse arched and soon Marcus felt the cock in his mouth bend, followed by a flaccid liquid, viscous and hot add. Closing his eyes, he swallowed the seed of his half without hesitation for a second.

Shortly breathing, Jesse breathed heavily sniffing, his forearm resting on his face. After enjoying crying, he always felt a bit ashamed, but Marcus wanted to do one thing in his moments: kiss him to the end, until it hurt his lips.

He dropped his thighs and climbed on all fours to try to kiss him, but Lingard reacts quickly by placing his free hand against his mouth to move away.

“No way, you'll wash your mouth before.”

Marcus smiled at his palm, licked it, then left the room, because it was like this: he always obeyed Jesse's orders.

In the bathroom, Marcus was quickly ejaculating, the image of a Jesse on the edge of tears taking him to enjoyment. He washed his hands, brushed his teeth again and returned to get his well-deserved kiss.

Unsurprisingly, Jesse curled up on himself, still naked with a sheet to partially cover him. He dropped down beside him, laid a kiss on his neck and pulled him almost brutally to whisper in the hollow of his ear in a voice he knew was serious:

“This evening, I finish you my love.”

Jesse moaned at length hearing that, already imagining the scene under his closed eyes, then turned to him:

“I just came, you have no right to say that Beans: _you have no right_.”

Marcus chuckled, regaining his innocent smile:

“That's what will happen, be prepared. I'm about to eat, are you joining me in the living room, Jess?”

The older boy nodded vaguely, so Rashford kissed him chastely several times, then left the room to feed.

 

The first attracted by the smell of pancakes in the living room was a shirtless Paul, who arrived thirty minutes after Marcus started them. Funny, Jesse's room had the door wide open and it had not even made him move.

Strangely loving in the morning, Paul clung to Marcus' neck to hug and purr.

“If you were not Jesse's soulmate, I would have married you right away.”

Marcus laughed without getting rid of the purely friendly embrace.

“I thought you just loved guys older than you, but actually I have all my chances. You can call me Daddy starting tomorrow.”

Paul snorted and stepped aside to sit on the worktop, a crepe between his fingers.

“No daddy kink here, keep that one for Lingard. I like tall people, who can play football, cook and dance; my basic criteria. You're the perfect man Rashy, congratulations.”

“And you haven’t seen what I had between my legs.”

They laughed like morons, amused by his joke.

“Go, tell me what Jesse does to deserve a guy like you.”

Marcus shrugged; Jesse was perfect, it was rather him who was very lucky, who did not deserve it.

“He shines, takes pictures and...”

He stopped because taking photos in Jesse's world was more than he could explain: he photographed _everything_ they did to keep all their highlights and showed how he felt through of his works. He was good at taking the best profile of people, in the most intimate moments, outside, in the middle of the crowd, immortalizing unsuspected things, or taking stupid pictures to amuse people.

Jesse was shining so much that it burned his eyes. He was warm, cheerful, playful, balm to the heart of everyone around him, making sure they were never unhappy in his presence.

“Ah.”

Marcus turned to see the pitying look that Paul was giving him, without even trying to be discreet. The bastard.

“Hey, you can not judge me!”

Pogba swallowed the end of his crepe, then jumped from his perch.

“I can, Rashy and I do it. I'm going to buy jam while waiting.”

He poked another pancake and went to his room to get dressed. Marcus shook his head, but continued his task.

He liked to please Jesse, take care of him one way or another, he liked to make himself useful, because he lit up his days like no one before him. He was unique, special, almost magical and he was lucky enough to call him his soulmate.

Paul went back through the living room to take a bag, opened the door "A toute, mes couilles !" Then left the apartment. Sometimes Marcus was bored by Paul's habit of giving up little sentences in French without explaining to them.

“ _Marcuuuus!_ ”

A huge smile appeared on his face, because it was the kind of desperate shrieks that Jesse was pushing before getting up and leaving their room. Well, it was time to start breakfast for Jesse.

Singing a music that his cell phone was playing on the bluetooth speaker, Rashford put another pile to heat to cook the fried eggs, while he washed, then cut the tomatoes into small pieces, without burning a single pancake. He grilled bread when he finished the eggs and heated a bowl of milk for his half, rejoicing in imagining his future dazzling smile.

A few minutes after he finished the meal, Jesse announced his arrival by raising the sound and singing over it. Marcus chuckled and glanced at him, not distracting himself from his pancakes, he only had four or five left to do.

Jesse hissed at his meal, put a kiss on Marcus's neck, "Thanks Beans, you're great," and ate without losing a minute. Rashford had too much melanin to blush, but still felt his face warm and his heart swell.

Finally finished! Marcus extinguished the fire, put the pile in the sink and let the cold water run on it. In the next minute, the dishes were clean, and he turned to Jesse. He could not repress a start when he saw him beside him, because he had not heard him approach.

“The morning musical blowjob and a good breakfast, I really wonder what I could have done to deserve a guy like you.”

Marcus leaned to seal their lips, his heart drumming in his chest.

“The one who doesn’t deserve the other is me, Jess.”

Jesse grabbed his face to keep kissing him, excited because of the food, this morning or maybe by what he had just said, still he was clinging to him and Marcus squeezed his hips between his big hands.

They did not pay attention to Paul who took the dish of pancakes and settled on the terrace to begin to eat, accustomed to this kind of scenes.

Rashford lifted Jesse forcefully and put him on the worktop, as hot as him, without releasing his lips for a second. Soon he rubbed against him, releasing his mouth to moan against his neck. Jesse had one hand on the wood to hold them in place, while the other gripped Marcus' neck, sighing with pleasure.

“ _Eat me Rashy...”_

Marcus leaned him against the surface, ready to take him right here to fill him. A hand teasing his nipples, the second spreading a thigh, he placed kisses on his belly and went down to his penis.

Lingard's skin was hot against his, reacting to every contact created, it was a nameless happiness. He would like to live this every moment of his life.

But…

 _“Dios míos,_ qué estáis haciendo ?!”

But they lived in community and Marcus immediately straightened up hearing the shocked and indignant cry of Paulo, who had just arrived in the living room. Without embarrassment, Jesse moaned to complain about Dybala's arrival, when they were clearly at fault.

"Sorry," he said in the second.

“Waouh Beans, I'm impressed, where did your audacity of this morning go? I do wonder…”

Marcus behaved a certain way with Jesse when they were alone, it really bothered him a lot that he talks about it without problem. Too ashamed for a single morning, a strategic withdrawal was needed: Marcus went on the balcony with Paul to forget.

* * *

The day did not start until eleven o'clock and they went for a walk in the city center to see the squares they were talking about the day before Puerto del Sol and the Plaza Mayor.

Paul chuckled as Jesse took pictures with his cell phone or camera, and tapped into Marcus' ribs to remind him of what they had said in the morning. Haha, hilarious. Honestly? He was so fond of seeing him moving in every direction, waving and smiling like an amazed child, looking for the best frame to forget nothing.

He was sparkling.

Spanish architecture did not look like the English, Marcus was surprised to see so many differences between two countries not far away. The mentalities were really different, the people spoke happily, smiled constantly and spoke frankly.

Paul was in his element in Spain, he laughed loudly, but it was not embarrassing. He smiled at everyone, approaching anyone as soon as they got lost, almost following Jesse in his delirious photos.

Marcus had never seen or lived with Paulo, they knew each other only by the interval of Paul, since the two could not spend a week without calling or skyping. The force of the matter had made them distant mates, so it was strange to really see him, to speak with him in English and Spanish, to be able to touch him or to take him in his arms. Paulo had a notion of personal space, but was very tactile, while Paul did not really bother with that. They sometimes touched each other without doing it on purpose, but never very long.

For a very long time Marcus had thought they were going out together, before realizing that it was a different bond that united them, without being able to put a word on what he knew for sure was the two of them loved each other very much, but no were not soul-sisters.

The tour of the squares did not last more than two hours and on the blows of thirteen hours, they stopped in a restaurant to eat something. Damn, they paid so little for the amount they had, it was crazy!

“Where are we going after?” Paulo asked smiling.

“There are some museums, it can be nice to go there.”

Jesse frowned, suspicious.

“We’re in Spain to visit museums? You tell me we pay a holiday to visit museums?”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “We decided on the program last night, you just had to be there. Oh, but wait: _you were there_ . You were arguing a tapas with Paulo.”

Lingard narrowed his eyes and glared at them.

“You little shit.”

"You’re welcome," Paul smiled.

“In Spanish: _putas_.”

Paulo exploded with laughter because of his English accent that came out atrociously.

 

* * *

 

They beg the road to get to the different museums that Marcus suggested two hours later, since they were absolutely the type of guy hanging out at table to joke.

At least, that was the idea until they went through the San Miguel - San Miguel Mercado market, for the closest friends - and Marcus knew he had lost Jesse and Paul. And Paulo.

Marcus liked being classy, well dressed, but hated spending three hours window-shopping for the sake of making it stupid. And he was spending so much money doing that, damn it. Even though money was not really a problem for them:

Dybala was a foreign student and received scholarships from Argentina to study in Europe and worked some nights, more to look after and meet people, than for real needs.

Pogba was in the same situation: the French scholarship covered a large part of his expenses and he played in the professional football team of their department, so he was paid for each game won, with a supplement if he scored.

Lingard and Rashford worked hard to stay among the best and kept their scholarship, while playing on the team, like Paul. Marcus was forward, it was easier to put goals, than Jesse who was a midfielder.

In any case, they were not to be pitied, although it was not always easy to stay by the ten percent better.

Marcus found himself almost following his roommates, lugging their bags of clothes, since the prices were so low that they decided to do an afternoon shopping not one to catch up with the others.

“Beans, look at this top! There is your size in a different color, but it suits very well the one I want to take!”

Marcus approached, suddenly interested in what he was doing.

“Ah seems good.”

“Yes, it is, I agree!”

Jesse offered him his conquered smile without realizing it and went back to his research to find other outfits that would suit them both. Yeah, it was not that bad to do some shopping finally.

 

* * *

 

"I'm exhausted," Marcus sighed as he arrived home four hours later.

His feet ached, his arms ached and he was sure he had caught two cramps while waiting. He needed a restorative nap now.

Paulo sat down next to him on the couch, while Jesse was shopping in the room and Paul was already searching the closets for something to prepare while singing French music.

Paulo was restful, quiet and not very excited, it made Rashford's life easier to have him with him for the week: he did not follow Paul in his madness, sometimes trying to temper him.

“You want to stay here for the evening?”

Dybala did not speak English as well as Pogba, but struggled to master the language as best he could, even though his Argentinean accent was evident in every sentence. Rashford respected the efforts he made, so he usually answered in Spanish so that they could try to understand each other.

“As you want, do you want to go downtown?”

“Yes, I was told about a restaurant not bad, I really want to go.”

Marcus shrugged, not against the idea.

“Yes if you want. Now?”

“We can leave in... An hour, a little less.”

He inhaled deeply, before getting up and exhaling to give himself courage. He knew he was going to sleep well tonight. Oh my God, no, he could not even sleep, he had _promised_ Jesse to eat him, he could not keep his word on that train.

“Alright, we're leaving in an hour. I have to rest and we leave.”

Rashford left the couch without losing a minute, to lie down in his room, in the middle of the bed. Jesse had abandoned the idea of tidying up, playing on his cell phone instead.

“Jess?”

His other half dropped down beside him, his eyes fixed on his cell phone, pleased to have Wi-Fi again, and ran his hand through his hair.

“What is it, Beans?”

Rashford smiled, slipped the quilt over his body and closed his eyes, intoxicated by his fiancé’s smell, happy and relieved to have him near him.

“This night, remember?”

Jesse thought for a few seconds before giggling.

“Yeah?”

“I rest, as I can do, okay? Just an hour and we leave.”

“Take your time, baby.”

Marcus closed his eyes and fell asleep in the next minute.

 

* * *

 

Technically, according to GPS, the destination was twenty-minutes-far.

According to their incredible orientation abilities, they took three-quarters of hours. Between the false shortcuts, the yes but no, the dead ends and other problems related to the absence of the same network, the way to the restaurant was particularly long.

The restaurant was a bit small, quiet and modern, the decor created an intimate look for everyone, so not to bother and it was nice. Background music was spinning, but he could not say in what language it was clearly not Spanish or English.

A waiter set them up at a table of four, gave them menus, and Russian roulette began: he understood nothing at all. _Pollo_ ? _Huevo_ ? _Arroz_ ? _Cerdo_ ? _Zanahoria_ ? These words did not make sense.

“Jesse, what are you taking?” he asked.

“The stuff with eggs and chicken, I'll try. You should take the other salad with lots of cheese and meat, we can taste both like that.”

“Okay.” Things were so much easier with Jesse at his side, he always seemed to know what to do, no matter what situation he was facing. He even looked more confident when he was in trouble and this force surprised, as much as it fascinated him.

The discussion revolved around their purchases while waiting for their dishes, but Paul noticed something with Dybala, and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Dybi, why here?”

Paulo stopped tapping his fingers on the table and looked at Pogba, surprised by his question.

“To eat…? This is a trick question?”

"Are you so hungry?”

Paulo shrugged, putting himself in the back of his chair, arms folded. Jesse sneered, resting his elbows on the table to watch him carefully. Marcus knew this look enough to know that Jesse had understood the situation, while he was lost.

“No, not that much.”

“So why are you so impatient?” Jesse wanted to know.

“Waiting for someone?” Paul added.

Jesse was really quick on a football pitch, it was amazing how easy he was to understand things. Paulo glanced quickly at his two tormentors, trapped, then stopped on him to ask for help.

Marcus opened his mouth to defend him, but once again Jesse was faster:

“No, leave Beans out of this. What do you have to say for your defence, Lover boy?”

"What are you hiding from us, Paulito?”

“Nothing…”

His red cheeks did not deceive anyone, so Marcus laughed.

“Guys, leave him alone. You should do like him: get laid in Spain.”

"Yeah, you're right," Jesse laughed.

“I'll get a beer, do you want some?” Paul replied.

They all nodded, but Jesse tapped Marcus' leg. “You are a minor, no alcohol for you.”

"Not here," Paul said, smiling. “I'll be right back.”

Pogba rose from his chair to go to the counter, enjoying the music of the place. It surprised him that Paulo chose a French restaurant, whereas he only set foot in France when he invited him.

Leaning on the counter, he jumped as he felt something kick against his legs and looked down: a little girl? what was she doing there? He looked around, looking for the girl's mother, but no one seemed to have noticed her passing.

 _Alright, awkward._ Paul bent down and patted her head gently, looking as nice as possible.

“Hola niña, dónde estan tus padres?”

She watched him with big blue eyes, but said nothing. Maybe his sentence was not correct? The difference between Ser and Estar was so mystical.

“I'll end up believing it's destiny to fall on you, Bambi.”

Paul turned around because of his voice and nickname, not surprised to see Antoine. If the day before, he had jeans and a rather American outfit, he was currently wearing a gray sweater a bit wide and a windbreaker with a cap of Atlético de Madrid. Lucas' head flew over Antoine's shoulder, with a smile.

“Hola amigo!”

Antoine tapped into Lucas's stomach, who pulled back.

“No Spanish when Mia is here, you know it. Hey Mia, are you coming to dad?”

Antoine stretched out his arms towards the child, she detached herself from Paul and jumped on her father. Damn, he was dumfounded: this guy who had been openly flirting with him the night before was dad?

"You're not funny Anto," Lucas rasped.

“You speak French?” Paul said, straightening himself up.

“Yeah: I came from Marseille, I arrived in Madrid when I was six years old.”

“Ah... Oh! It was you who told Paulo to come here, I bet.”

Lucas shrugged shyly, but did not deny the thing. Antoine laughed, holding his daughter against him.

“We eat here every Monday, I can advise you some dishes,” Antoine offered.

“We already ordered, too bad. I'm just coming to get some beer there. I take you one too, go sit next to us, okay?”

Antoine looked surprised for a few seconds by his announcement, then smiled and left. Okay, maybe he was a little rude the day before, but he liked Antoine and Lucas.

There were a few words to know that were useful in all situations: _hola, qué tal, por favor, lo siento, de nada, dónde están las aseos, una cerveza, caña._ It was the minimum to know to fit in any Hispanic country.

Beers in hand, Paul returned to the table with the growing group. He put everything on the table he shared with Paulo smiling and served everyone. Paulo and Lucas seemed already on their little cloud, plotting in Spanish, isolated in their bubble. Rashy and Jesse did their best to chat with Antoine jokingly, and he tried to answer with some English, French, and Spanish, but his look was filled with relief when he saw Paul arrive.

“Cervaza para mi genta!”

“ _Cervezas_ ,” Paulo corrected.

Paul shrugged as he sat down, handed everyone the glasses, and turned his head to Antoine, who was sitting across from him and next to Jesse.

"What are you talking about, Thumper?

“Of your journey, I think?”

His uncertainty was adorable; his daughter looked a lot like him for facial expressions. Paul laughed and spoke to Jesse in English.

"Be nice to him, okay?"

“ _I'm always nice_.”

Marcus giggled, so Jesse threw him a piece of napkin rolled. Paul chuckled, then took a sip of beer as he watched Antoine chat with Mia in French, asking her how she was doing, what she wanted to eat, but the little girl sputtered in Spanish.

Griezmann looked up feeling observed and smiled at him.

“Sorry, she... she doesn’t like to speak French.”

“It does not matter, don’t worry.”

“Is she your daughter?” Marcus asked, unsure. “You look young.”

Antoine smiled at him, then ruffled his daughter's hair. Paul rested his elbow on the table, his palm raising his chin.

"He is twenty-seven, Rashy. He told this lie yesterday, but seeing the little one I begin to believe it.”

“Oh, was she with you yesterday?”

Antoine gave Paul a curious look, since he did not understand the question in English and had the translation.

“No, of course not! She is young!”

“How old is she?” Marcus asked in English.

“Mia, t’as quel âge ?” Antoine translated into French.

The girl looked up at her father, then looked at Rashford and showed two fingers, mumbling a weak " _dos años..._ ". Antoine put a kiss on her forehead, satisfied that she answered.

“It's very good darling, but in French, all right?”

Paul frowned, why insisting on teaching her French if she did not want to? Well, it was understandable: Antoine was French, it was going to get stuck if his daughter spoke only Spanish, unable to communicate with his paternal family.

The dishes arrived quickly after that, except for Lucas, Antoine and Mia, so they waited a bit to start eating all at the same time. But the girl pointed Paul's plate hiding against his chest, chuckling happily.

“You want some, Mia?”

She laughed, then hid herself again. Amused, Pogba poked a piece of chicken with his fork and handed it to Mia, who hid in her father's jacket.

“Yeah, Mia, do you want it?”

“If it's too big a piece, I can cut it.”

“Yeah, I don’t want her to choke,” Antoine told him.

Paul nodded and complied, cutting the piece with his knife, then handed the fork to Mia. Without fear, she put her head forward and ate it.

“What do we say, Mia?”

She laughed in response, then fidgeted in her father's arms without answering. Paul smiled when he saw this picture, he would never have suspected Antoine to have a kid, let alone see him again soon. He was a long way off, the kindly heavy guy who flirt as if his life depended on it.

While Antoine was giving Mia water with his own glass, Marcus noticed something:

“He does not have a bottle?”

And Paul ticked: Antoine had not entered the restaurant with a bag, so where was he keeping Mia's clothes and stuff? Maybe he had come by car?

“Thumper?” The young dad raised his head, astonished that he would call him that way. "Do not you have a bag for Mia's business? "

He frowned, looked around, before slamming into Lucas' arm, lost in his bubble with Paulo.

“Lukito, tienes la bolsa de Mia?”

“No, pensaba que lo pondrías. No lo tienes?”

“Claro que no, te he dicho.”

Paul looked at them, more or less understanding their low masses, surprised that they spoke naturally Spanish while they were both Frenchmen. Antoine facepalmed, sighing, seeming to realize his mistake.

Finishing his glass of beer, Paul thought it was one of the biggest differences between a father and a mother: she could not forget something about her baby, the fruit of her womb.

“Do you live far away? If you just went out to eat, it should be good, right?”

“Yeah...,” Antoine nodded weakly.

His disappointment did not last, because Lucas came to whisper something in his ear that made him giggle and their dishes came in following. As soon as Antoine's plate arrived, Mia struggled to get out of his arms and run around the restaurant.

"We took the same thing," Paul remarked, looking at Antoine's dish.

“It's fate, cariño.”

Then he accompanied it with a wink and Paul burst out laughing, without saying anything. Mia came back several times to her father or Lucas saying 'dar, dar' and seeing them give him pieces of food, he understood what it meant.

“Mia, say in French...,” Antoine tried.

“Doesn’t matter Anto,” Lucas answered in Spanish. “She is small, she does not understand.”

“I do not need her to have bad habits with her mother, you know it.”

“What do you mean?” Paul could not help but ask.

Antoine cast him a glance, sighed, massaging his neck, then resigned himself to spitting the piece:

“Her mother is Basque, Spanish side, so she only speaks that at home. I do not want Mia to be limited linguistic level, you see? That's why I take her to this restaurant every week and I refuse that Lucas speaks Spanish: it's good for her to have some French around her.”

“Oh ok.”

Paul frowned, but did not ask the question that bothered him: if Antoine was married, why had he flirted with him the day before? Even Jesse and Marcus had noticed, he had no illusions.

Well, it was not like he actually liked Antoine.

“The offer to come to the stadium is still available,” Antoine offered them. “There is no home game at the moment, we can make a quick visit.”

It had the merit of attracting the attention of everyone.

Jesse tried to talk to Antoine, assisted by Marcus, while Paul focused on Paulo and Lucas, although his ears were focused on the next discussion. He restrained himself from giggling when Lucas held out his thumb to remove the grease on Paulo's cheek oh my God, it was so cliché. Dybala’s redness finished him and he burst out laughing, attracting his best friend’s wrath.

“Okay, all right, I'll stop, Dybi.”

Something gripped his leg under the table, so he looked down to fall on Mia's giggling eyes. She reached for him saying 'dar' to give him something to eat and he did.

The operation continued for a few minutes, she changed her word and he did not know what to do.

“She wants you to hold her.” Paul watched Antoine, surprised at not having felt his eyes earlier. "She says 'llevar', that means hold. She wants you to hold her. "

Well, if it was only that. Paul put the baby on his leg, but she wanted to stay standing, clinging to his neck to stabilize. He gave her a piece of vegetables this time, amused by her little noises, without paying attention to his best friends.

"You're good with children," Antoine remarked. “You're doing better than me, even now.”

“I have cousins.”

By cousins, Paul meant kids younger than him from his city home or little cousins more or less distant on both sides of his parents. On top of that, Paul played a lot with his big brothers and their friends, so he quickly learned to take care of his younger ones.

But lazy to explain, so he contented himself with the minimum.

Mia came down from Paul to go to her father's arms, but went away laughing very quickly in the restaurant. It was amusing to see how permissive Antoine was with her.

“I do not know if I should be jealous that you watch over my daughter or worry that you stare at her like that.”

Paul winced as he watched him, then burst out laughing at the same time. He liked him.

“Stop, it would be really weird!”

Griezmann was about to answer, but the notes of the music caught his attention, so Pogba listened to hear and they smiled at each other. _Sexion Assault, One Shot_. It was an old song, but it had punctuated his high school years and his exits with his friends.

Naturally they began to sing the words that came back to them without problems. Jesse threw him bread to keep him quiet, but he ignored him with a sneer. The evening was really cool, he did not regret having followed Dybala's plan.

When the next music came on, they giggled and chained while talking about other things, giving food to Mia, who kept coming back giggling. What surprised Paul the most was that she came back to _him_ more than she approached Antoine towards the end of the meal, to finally fall asleep in his arms.

Damn, Antoine had some interesting things to say.

They talked about their respective high school years in their hometown, what they did, acclimatization abroad, their desire to leave the country, the warmth of the home, to venture out and see new things.

He was funny, Paul liked him. He bounced on so many things, had the same humor as him, the same references, it was... amazing to feel something like that for a long time. Apart from his brothers and the guys he had been to at the national pole, he had never felt such a connection.

But on the other hand, Antoine did not look like what he was waiting for. He was small, with a youthful and innocent face, eager to be ravaged, a fun way of talking and far from what Paul could desire.

Paul did not want to think about that. No, it was risky to focus on the right person in the wrong place at the same time. He had believed with Paulo, then he had to leave for Manchester, out of the question to reproduce the same pattern.

His thought did not go any further: Jesse threw him bread to catch his eye and showed Rashford with his chin. Oh, the boy was exhausted, unable to keep awake too late.

“Oh, you must leave soon.”

“Oh... Yeah, poor Rashy needs his seven hours of sleep.”

Antoine laughed on hearing it, "My little one too," got up and reached for him. _Oh yes, Mia_ . Paul returned her to his father, doing his best not to wake her up, but without success. She escaped, turning around their tables, rubbing her eyes, moaning with fatigue.

If we asked Paul what they had done during the meal, he could only talk about Antoine and Mia: he completely forgot that they were seven in all, totally focused on father and daughter.

“Dybi? We're leaving, Rashy has to go to bed.”

Paulo nodded to see the man concerned, not surprised at his condition, he was even impressed that he had held on for so long. He nodded, looked at Lucas with a pleasant smile, shyly grabbing the tips of his fingers.

And Paul would puke flowers if he kept looking at his best friend, so he gently shook Marcus to wake him up. He received a lost and disoriented look.

“Rashy, let's go, okay?”

Marcus did not answer, just nodded, before getting up with Jesse's help. A waitress came back with a big smile and each one of them paid their dues. They dressed quickly, ready to go. Gloves on his hands, Paul let his hand fall on Antoine's shoulder, which almost jumped.

“We’ll try to see you before we leave, you are nice. And I think Paulo is infatuated with your guy.”

Antoine threw a shot at the concerned ones and chuckled.

“I know my Lukito, I can assure you that it's the same on his side.”

“No fucking before the third date.”

“ _What_? We are _French_ , we fuck the first night if we want.”

"Stereotypes are hard," laughed Paul. “Anyway, I’m on my way, mate.”

Paul patted his hand, greeted Lucas, and went to the front door with Rashford and Lingard. Paulo talked a little more with Lucas, while Antoine was dressing Mia against the cold, and Paul realized that he was once more alone with his roommates and they were going to make him shit.

Shit, it was almost a habit.

“So?” Jesse started.

So predictable that it was becoming confusing. Paul gave him a hypocritical smile, absolutely not surprised.

“So what?”

“You, Antoine, Mia? The perfect little family. He spent the evening trying to flirt with you.”

“Pff, I don’t think so.”

Antoine had flirted with him heavily the day before, tonight was nothing compared to that, but this thought brought a smile on his face. He had a much better time that night than the night before. Maybe they were made to be friends, eventually.

This answer does not please Jesse, who looked at him with wide eyes, dazed.

“Wait, he gave you all his cards: he likes football, you have the same dubious tastes, he wants French in his house and his daughter adopted you. What more do you want?”

Paul sighed heavily, rubbing his face, annoyed, then stared at the other young man. He did not want to have this conversation, not today, not the next day, or _ever_.

“And so? What do you want to say, Lingard? Yes, he is nice.”

“ _Nice_? Pogs, he likes you!”

“And I think he can take you.”

Paul stared at Rashy, surprised that he dared to say that to him, then glared at Jesse, accusing him of such behavior.

“Could you stop perverting Rashy with your bullshit?”

“Don’t change the topics Pogs, admit that you like Antoine.”

“So what? He's not my style, and even if he was, he lives in Spain, Jess! In Spain, not in Salford, London or Liverpool, he lives in _Madrid_ , damn! So yeah, he's cool and it stops there. He's not my style, finished.”

Jesse was going to argue, but Marcus held him by the arm to dissuade him and Paul was grateful to him. He watched Antoine one last time, smiling at Mia, saying anything to her, and his heart sank.

_Antoine Griezmann was not his type._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! The next chapter in 2 months :)  
> Meanwhile, I hope that Man U will have beaten PSG !!!


	4. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not beta-read, it's not arranged correctly and I have no idea for the next chapter   
> enjoy

Paul got up around nine o'clock to go to the bathroom and was unable to go back to sleep, so he sat down in the living room to play on his cell phone. There was music coming from Marcus and Jesse's room, they had to be awake, and when he passed Paulo's room, he didn’t hear anything.

It was not the first time he had been alone in the living room, even though he did not admit it, the silence was really nice; it reminded him of the first six months he had spent in Manchester.

 At that time, Paul had not yet joined the football team, so he had to find a job that could pay for his expenses and rent, since scholarships were not enough. His family had helped him in his search for work and housing even before he set foot in England. He would live in Salford with two other young people and the pay was really good, the problem? He worked at  _night_.

It was the proprietor who showed him the apartment, signed the lease, and gave him the keys while his roommates were in class. The same evening, before their return, he went to work and a sweet death began.

Well,  _maybe_  he was exaggerating, but still he had classes at eight o'clock every morning, in the afternoon he socialized, from six pm he touched his bed and at midnight he went to this workplace. In other words, it was not joy. And every weekend he returned to Paris, because he preferred to be with his family and his friends in the neighbourhood, than to be in Salford.

Some afternoons he was more tired, he went home to enjoy the calm of the home, made food for three without knowing if it would please his roommates, then fell asleep before they were there.

The first one he really knew was Anthony Martial, another Frenchman in the same department but not the same class. The kid was really funny, serious and easy going. He was agonizing quickly, getting on his big horses and talking about Olympique Lyonnais  _all the time_  , but a good guy anyway.

Paul knew everyone in his field and many people in his department, but nothing more; Anthony helped him to really get a foothold in Manchester, and actually introduced him to Juan Mata, Zlatan Ibrahimovic and Memphis Depay, who went with Luke Shaw. Following him, he met Jesse Lingard and his partner in crime Marcus Rashford, then Chris Smalling, Ashley Young and Eric Bailly, another french speaker.

Paul hung up almost immediately with Zlatan and Memphis, they were good mates, behind their big thug-like. Marcus was the youngest among them, so they messed with him as much as they protected him. Jesse was a compulsive paparazzi, who was starting a quarter turn if anyone touched Rashford. Luke looked like a teddy bear, all cute, all nice, who thought only of Memphis. Eric reminded him home in everything he did while Juan reminded him of Paulo. Chris and Ashley could be a little rough and clumsy, but he liked them.

Dragging with them, he began to enjoy Manchester, gradually losing the missing-home feeling, even if he returned to Paris often, and when he stayed, he squatted at Anthony’s or Zlatan’s.

The problem? They all played in the college's professional football team. Paul was happy for them, okay? But the afternoons they had training, while many Saturdays or certain days of the week, they left to face another university.

Marcus advised him to go to practice for the second semester, since the coach could not stand to have players coming from nowhere. Then he spun a rectangle Tupperware with an orange lid and a can of iced tea, before leaving for class. It disturbed Paul, but he was not going to say no.

Before leaving work that evening, he saw the same box full of food on the table in the kitchen with a note.  _For Pogs. Good luck!_

When Paul showed up for practice at the end of the first semester, the coach almost handed him a contract halfway through the session and asked him to come train with his official team the following week. Zlatan, Jesse and Eric had attended his tests and jumped on him when Mourinho validated him. Funny, Lingard was the only one to call him Pogs.

The first weekend he spent at home, Paul finally met his roommates and he hallucinated seeing Marcus Rashford and Jesse Lingard kissing as if their lives depended on it. He almost moved out, but there were too many benefits to live there. 

As soon as he signed the contract in the university team, he left his night work, relieved to finally have normal hours, but goodbye the calm of the apartment. It was after that that Yeo came several times since he could not anymore.

But Paul loved calmness and silence. He knew Jesse too well to know that it was not going to last forever.

Surprisingly, the person to disturb the calm was not him, but his cellphone; someone called him on WhatsApp.

Raphael Varane? They had been together since their fourteen. Paul had created a WhatsApp group with all the guys on the team so as not to lose sight of each other, they were still sending each other messages, organizing some trips to each other, since they had lived together for almost seven years.

Curious, he replied:

“Yeah?”

“Paul? It's Raphael Varane, how are you?”

His soft, hesitating voice amused him; he had not changed.

“Hi Raph, how are you? You had not talked about the conversation for so long that I thought you had left it.”

He laughed, embarrassed.

“What? No, not at all, I read what you mark and everything... I saw that you were in Madrid?”

“Yeah? I came with my roommates from Manchester and a friend from Turin.”

“Oh yes, you used to study in Italy. For how long do you stay here?”

“Five days, I think.”

"Okay, because I live in Madrid, you know? It would be nice to see each other again. Samuel moved to Barcelona, he could join us.”

“Mad, that would be the fire! You could show us the city, the good corners...”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, are you busy this afternoon?”

“No, can we meet?”

“Yeah, yeah we do that, it'll be cool!”

 

After a few more exchanges to finalize the meeting, they hung up. Paul was pleasantly surprised, since he greatly appreciated Raphael after all his years together. They were a bit like night and day, but worked so well together.

Paul dropped his cell on the couch and went to Paulo's room; there was no reason for him to be the only one to be pissed off at half past nine, so be two. He dropped into the space between the wall and the sleeping body, before tapping the tip of his nose.

“Dybi, wake up...”

Dybala grimaced, then turned, back to him, so Paul scratched his nape and smiled. Groans of discomfort gave way to grunts, while the Argentinian woke up against his will.

“Pogba, no...”

Paul chuckled, so Paulo replied with something in Spanish that he did not understand. He frowned and sat up on his forearms.

“Hey, you didn’t teach me that one, what does it mean?”

Paulo turned on his back, beneath him, an arrogant smile on his face despite the fatigue still present. He ran a hand over Paul's cheek, as they had long used to.

“Normal, that means you're really shit, mi amor.”

The next moment Paul found himself against the mattress, not really surprised at how things were going, so he chuckled. Paulo seemed so proud of his shot; pff, moron.

“What did you want?”

Paul looked more miserable, because he knew that Paulo could not say no if he looked like a poor, hopeless man.

“Dybi, make me eat, I’m dying... I beg you.”

Paulo tried to resist by finding arguments in his head, but sighed, resigned, and Paul knew he had won. He always won; they could not refuse anything. Trotting behind Paulo, holding him by the shoulders, Pogba sang odes in his honor in Italian.

Dybala did not hurry, brushed his teeth, and did not do anything very complicated to eat; hot milk and bread with jam. Pogba could have done it himself, but it did not feel the same when his best friend did it.

As they joked while watching TV, someone dropped down beside them. 

“Rashy, you okay buddy?”

He asked without taking his eyes off the screen, because it was impossible for Jesse to reach them so silently and without telling the whole world that he was awake.

 

“Jesse doesn’t want to get out of bed...”

“You shouldn’t have fucked him all night. The walls are thin, Rashy.”

Paul stared at Marcus, who looked pale, shocked at having been heard. But he failed to keep his face serious and exploded with laughter.

“I’m kidding Rashy, relax!”

“Stop this Paul, it's not funny.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Why he does not want to get up?” Paulo asked to cut the argument.

Marcus pouted, annoyed by Jesse's behavior. 

“Because  _"there is no way we are in Spain and he gets up earlier than in class..."_  which is stupid, right? We came to enjoy, not sleep; we could have done that back home.”

“Oh... He only has to stay if he does not want to go out,” Paulo said.

"Yep," Paul agreed, without remorse. “We will go for a walk and he will join us after, as he wants. I do not ruin my days because he wants to sleep longer.”

Marcus gave them a look of pure despair, destroyed at the thought of having to manage Jesse alone and miss a moment outside, but against the idea of leaving him alone in the apartment. Paul sighed as he rolled his head and looked at Paulo for support, but he also seemed weak against those pleading eyes.

“OK, I'll get him out of bed.”

Paul left his bowl on the coffee table and went to the bedroom, ready to burst Lingard for his peace of mind. How the oldest of the group could be so childish, it was to understand nothing there. No matter, he entered the room, jaded at the sight of him asleep.

“Aurora, get up.”

Yes it was the Sleeping Beauty’s name, yes Paul knew that kind of useless stuff and no he did not regret.

Jesse growled, but did not move; at least he was awake. Pogba dropped down beside him and pulled the cover in which he was wrapped.

“Pogs, leave me alone...”

“C’mon, get up. If it's not for you, do it for Rashy, the poor boy doesn’t want to leave without you.”

“Bloody... I - I told him to leave without me, I'll join you later, I did not sleep enough that night, okay?”

“You shouldn’t have to be fucked all night, then.”

Jesse giggled, then turned to Paul with a condescending and proud smile.

“Jealous that someone get laid and that it is not you?”

Pogba squinted, stung; what an asshole.

“So we leave without you, okay. Won’t have to tell me twice.”

He left the room under Lingard’s amused laughter. Him too wanted to get laid, he had not yet found the right person for that, that's all.

 

¤

 

Finally, Jesse decided to leave his larval state to go downtown with them. Marcus's relieved look was well worth the mockery, after all. They decided to eat in the city before doing anything, and Jesse passed all the way without walking, perched on the back of one of the guys, because they were really good friends.

On the terrace for tapas, Paul realized that he did not know what he was doing that day and that he had not yet announced to the guys that they were going to see a friend in the afternoon, then he turned to Marcus, anticipating the group.

“What do we do today?”

Jesse smiles mischievously, proud of his future foolishness:

“We are going to your boyfriend’s stadium.”

His face decomposed as his heart fell into his stomach: he did not expect so much to see him so soon. Why was he not aware?

“What? Why?”

"Because," Jesse continued. “We decided on the program last night, you just had to be there. Oh, but wait:  _you were there_. You were talking to  _Antoine_.”

Paul frowned, disappointed that he dares to reuse his own words against him. Jesse really did not deserve gold friends like them.

“As you said yesterday,  _puta_.”

Then he tried to make him eat his paper napkin. That's enough bullshit, huh.

 

After a few minutes of fierce fighting, Paul quietly left a laughing Jesse, and focused on his cell phone that rang. Damn it was his call day, and Anthony wanted to join him. He answered:

“Yeah?” He said in French.

“Paul, I'm in front of your building, where are you?”

Shit, he had to come to their place? He did not remember making plans with him for the week... On top of that, none of them had warned they were leaving, aside from Jesse posting pictures of Spain every three minutes.

“Well... are we in Madrid?”

_“What?”_

Marcus caught his attention and mimed "who's it?" With the lips, which was answered by "Anthony". Jesse almost jumped on him to pick up the phone, so Paul pushed him away trying to get away too.

“Yeah, Jesse’s stupid idea , as usual.”

“You did follow anyway, piss off.”

“It’s a share flat, we share every damn thing, I feel almost a member of their disgusting relationship,” he said in English.

“Hey!” the concerned ones offended.

"For real,  y’all so annoying: Luke went to  _Lyon_  , the bastard, without warning me! Just to see Memphis, besides, the bastard. Chris and Ashley still don’t know what their cell phones are for, and Eric went to Ivory Coast for the week. Actually, I'm the only one left in Manchester, you're  _all_  traitors, bastards.”

Paul chuckled because it was Anthony's kind of bitch for that. Paul let Jesse stick to him without wanting to, but did not try to drive him away.

“Anthony Martial scored again!” He crooned.

“Lingard, dirty traitor, you left without me!”

“Stop stick to Melanie then.”

The elder took the phone without asking to argue with Anthony without a speaker in the middle and Paul was not going to complain. He just pushed him into his chair, before explaining the situation to Paulo in Italian, who looked lost.

As good friends, Paul and Paulo managed to send Marcus to get drinks for each of them and when he returned, Jesse ended his call with Anthony. Rashford did not even need to ask his boyfriend what he wanted to get, it was impressive especially when Jesse liked a lot.

Pogba takes the opportunity of calm to say what he wanted from the beginning:

“I have a friend who lives in Madrid, as I did not know we were going to the stadium, he offered to show us the city.”

"I thought your friend Antoine was doing it," Jesse laughed.

“Shut that mouth, my question is: stadium or city?”

“"The stadium," they all said clearly.

“Okay, okay, do not push me. I'm calling to put this back to tomorrow or tonight.”

Paul took his abandoned cellphone on the table and eventually sent a quick message to Raphael explaining the situation, disappointed that the program was not as he had planned. As long as they saw each other, it was fine with him anyway.

A slap in the arm took him out of his thoughts and he turned his head to Jesse, who nodded to Marcus.

“Yes?”

“I wonder since yesterday, how is it that you have the network in Spain when none of ours works?”

“Ah. I have a French number, you know? He also walks here.”

"Speaking of that," continued Jesse. “Paulo, when do you conclude with Lucas?”

The Turinese stared wide, surprised that the attention was suddenly on him and almost choked on his iced tea. He coughed to be content, as they were all waiting for an answer to this question.

“What... what are you talking about?”

“About you, Lucas and fuck all night in Spain. Half of the group has already concluded in Spain, you know.”

Jesse raised his hand laughing at his stupidity and Marcus tapped in, smiling timidly. Paul snorted, adding nothing.

“What? How you can count, you are in a relationship.”

“So what? It was said to do it in Spain, no matter the person and your choice fell on Lucas, then?”

“What about Paul?” He tried to defend himself pathetically.

Paul raised his eyebrows, not surprised, while Jesse chuckled as he rested his elbows on the table.

“Show some patience, we will come to his case. In the meantime, tell us more about Lucas.”

Paulo looked for support in his best friend’s eyes, but Paul did not crack this time and even made a move to encourage him to speak. He sighed, defeated.

“Lucas Hernández, twenty-two, works at the stadium of Madrid, not my soul-mate since we touched and there was nothing. He has his mornings free this week,  _so_  I think one night of the week, I'll... give you up to visit his apartment?”

They all shouted with pride, while Paulo giggled, amused by their reaction and pleased for him. He tried to sink into his seat, blushing heavily. Damn it, he was going to shoot with a Spaniard, it was cool!

When they all calmed down, Paul knew he was dead so he acted quickly:

“Do not fall in love, huh.”

The red did not leave Paulo’s face, who tried to sink into his chair to hide his embarrassment.

“I don’t see what you're talking about.”

Paul rolled his eyes, because he recognized the symptoms of a Paulo in love for having lived with him so long.

“Dybi, we leave at the end of the week,  _do not fall in love_  .”

“And Paul?” Paulo paused to cut short his insinuations.

“Calm down, amigo, we will address the P-case in a second.” 

To punctuate his argument, Jesse carried his can to his mouth, drank three refreshing sips, blinked several times and rested it gently.

“Brought it here with love, thank you Rashy.”

“You're welcome, love.”

"Dybi, you're a traitor," he said in Italian during that time.

"It was you who started when you let me down, mi amor," Paulo mumbled.

“Hey, no Italians!” Jesse reminded.

Pogba took a sip in his can, disappointed by the events, but not really surprised. He did not want to talk about Antoine... Jesse turned to his roommate for Dybala's delight. 

“P-case, your tour: when are you going to get laid?”

“When I find someone with whom I get along well.”

"What about Antoine?" Paulo replied, "You two seem to get along very well.”

Dybala was taking his innocent head, but Paul knew he was doing this to avenge himself and that he had no ounce of innocence in those moments.

“He’s not my type at all.”

Incredulous, Paulo scoffed and shook his head.

“I know enough about your tastes to know that he is.”

"And we just ask you to fuck, nothing else," Jesse added.

"Have you seen his head? It's the kind of guy to take it deep and ask for more.”

“And? It never bothered you before.”

“Dybi, you knew how to adapt.  _We adapted_. Him? Hn, hn, no way: he takes it all the time, I don’t want to sleep with that kind of guy.”

"He has a daughter," Marcus replied, "I doubt he’s like that.”

Paul had also thought about that, how could he have a girl and flirt with him like that? If he had had Mia and was still with her mother, they were not going to sleep together. But if their relationship had not lasted, did that mean he woke up one morning thinking he wanted to suck cock?

There was nothing worse than these people.

“He is straight, let go.”

Jesse sighed heavily, but left the game for the moment; he would come back to it later.

 

¤

 

An hour later they arrived at the football stadium. Heart pounding, Paul wanted to turn back to not face Antoine, but it was not counting on Paulo who was swimming on a cloud of love and Jesse who liked to get him out of his comfort zone.

They entered the stadium shop, not knowing if they were disappointed that there were not more people than that. Maybe it was just a hollow hour.

Still, they recognized Lucas at the checkout desk, who looked after a few customers. Paulo grabbed an article without looking at what it was and did not waste a second to queue. On the other hand, the other three decided to take a real turn to find interesting articles. Paul left on their side to give them a little privacy.

His loneliness did not last long because something hit his legs and he looked down to find the little Mia who grinned. She pulled away, before running off and Paul followed her so that she would not get lost in this too big shop for such a little girl.

Unsurprisingly, she found refuge in her father's legs, who was packing clothes that had been unfolded, obviously accustomed to his daughter's behavior.

"Mia, calm down," he said, without turning away from his task.

She continued to giggle in her little Atlético jersey at number seven, half hidden by his legs. They were both adorable. And Paul confessed with a little trouble, but he was happy to see him.

“How much for the shirt?” 

Antoine jumped before turning suddenly, surprised to see him and the expression of joy on his face was well worth Jesse’s future mockery.

“I can get you a discount, if you do not mind having a faulty model.

“Nah, I prefer Real anyway.”

Antoine snorted, before coming to shake his hand, protected by gloves. Mia grabbed Paul's legs, laughing, before going away. He frowned, surprised that Antoine let her do it without worrying.

“I always take her with me here, she is used to it and the guys watch after her for me. In addition, the shop is not that big, no risk of losing her.”

“You dress her with the colors of the stadium? What if she is for Real later?”

Antoine looked falsely shocked while continuing his work. 

“ _My_  daughter, a Real fan? Impossible, there is too much red in her life for that, I'm watching.”

Paul chuckled: for him, the red was the Manchester United team, the Devil Red. He did not miss any of their home match if he could, still in the stand of supporters. For now, they were fine.

“Why the seven?”

Antoine turned to him, his eyes sparkling with joy, with a magnificent smile. Paul leaned against a shelf to look at him, feeling a smile in his turn.

“It was Beckham's number on the national team. This guy is my hero, so classy and generous, I find him incredible!”

“You do know that your hero played for Real, alongside Zizou?”

Antoine sighed sadly, shaking his head.

“Everyone makes mistakes: look at Zizou in 2006.”

Paul giggled, because he was right. Damn, they could have had the second star earlier if Zidane had not hit that Italian player.

“Maybe, but that did not stop him from winning three champions leagues in a row.”

“Pff, the CL is mainstream anyway.”

They both laughed at that. Paul loved his humor.

Antoine finished handing over the articles and turned to him, in his work clothes, which looked far too much like Atlético's jersey. A three-day beard adorned Antoine's face, and let's be honest: it was not bad.

“You are alone?” The Madrilenian asked.

“No, Jes and Rashy are looking for stuff to buy, while Paulo is flirting with Lucas...”

“On this subject…”

Paul nodded, curious to know what he had to say, everything in his gesture betrayed some discomfort: he scratched his neck with a grimace, his eyes lowered and his mouth pinched. He inhaled, then crossed his arms.

“Could you tell Paulo to stop? Lucas easily falls in love and I do not want to pick him up with a spoon because your friend plays with him.”

“It's funny, because I told him the same thing earlier: I know my Dybi and he falls completely in love with your guy.”

Antoine sighed, one hand on his face, the other on his hip, annoyed by the situation in which the two Hispanics were putting themselves. Paul shook his shoulder to pull him out of his morose thoughts.

“We warned them, what do you want to do more? We are not their mothers. Well, you do have a girl's head a little...”

Amused, Antoine narrowed his eyes and drew back a little.

“Wait, am I the one who’s twenty-seven and has a child or not?”

They giggled, then Antony motioned for him to follow him: the shop was not densely crowded, he could leave without risk of being called for a moment.

He guided Paul out of the shop, asked the guard to watch Mia not to go out, then left in the opposite direction to the exit of the stadium, taking him through various corridors with a smile too innocent to be true.

Damn, Antoine was taking him to see the Atlético football field!

“The players had training this morning, there is no one there,” Antoine announced. “I would have dragged your friends for a ride, but you arrived too late for the visit, it would have seemed suspicious. Try to come back later in the afternoon or tomorrow, it will be easier.”

“Roger that, I love the solo ride anyway.”

Antoine smiled at him and pushed the doors in front of them, revealing the stands inside the gigantic stadium. Although one stadium was like any other, Paul was impressed by the size.

“Come here.”

The Madrilenian had sat in the highest tiers, gazing at the stadium with a satisfied smile, more beautiful thanks to the solar star. His arms rested on the armchairs beside him, while his feet leaned on the chair just in front of him, as if the place belonged to him. Paul quickly joined him, dropped down beside him and did not stop to slip under his arm, to observe what they had under the eyes, enjoying a rare silence in a football stadium.

He felt his temple against the bottom of Antoine's jaw, he was so warm, reassuring and familiar... a shiver almost crossed his body at this sensation and Griezmann put his hand on his arm to rub it and keep him warm.

"You have super hot skin," he said.

"And you’re frozen Elsa," he laughed.

For a few minutes they exchanged no words, satisfied by the mere presence of the other, complete. Paul felt so small in the face of the grandeur of the place...

 "I like to come here when there is no one," Griezmann said. “I have already had the opportunity to talk to a few players, they are nice, but it's even better when they are not there. Sometimes, when we closed the shop and there was no match, we still have a football with the guys. Normally, we are not allowed to, but...”

Antoine shrugged with a sneer, while Paul smiled, taking advantage of the weak sun on his skin, happy to be in his coat. It was colder than Manchester, but not hot enough either. 

He inhaled quietly, appeased by Antoine's presence and calm him.

“You know, I wanted to apologize for Sunday...”

Slumped in his seat, Pogba looked up at Antoine, looking lost, though his smile showed that he clearly knew what he was referring to.

“Sunday?”

“Yeah... you know...”

Paul frowned, insensitive to his discomfort and not trying to help him either. Antoine finally sighed, understanding his little game and chuckled.

“God, you’re not making it easy for me.”

“Nope,” he laughed.

“Jeez... I'm sorry for Sunday, I must have been an ass when I dragged you...”

“Ah,  _that_ ,” he pretended to understand after all this time.”

“Yes,  _that_ ,” Antoine imitated with a childlike voice.

Pogba chuckled, putting himself at ease in the seat, staring straight ahead.

“I'm sorry, I was so embarrassed when we met again with Mia Monday...”

“Oh yeah? You did not look like it... although you were doing a lot less hints.”

“Yeah, I really hoped we cross again, but not with Mia. ‘ _Picked up by a twenty-seven father, what a shame_...

“No, I told myself:  _picked up by an Atlético fan, what a shame_...”

 Antoine snorted off without adding anything.

“I know you're in Manchester, but you look really cool, it's a pity you do not move to Madrid.”

“Wow, calm Griezmann, one might think that you fall for my big black eyes and this dreamful body.”

He laughed again with his crystalline and adorable laugh. It made him want to smile whenever he heard it.

Paul changed the subject so as not to make things awkward:

“I want to do a foot five and I have to see a friend who lives here, are you interested? You can take Lucas and your colleagues, so we are quite numerous and it gives us the opportunity to see us tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, there is way to make a football here and more. Our chef has the keys of equipment, we can do something nice.”

“It's cool.”

“Yeah.”

Paul pulled his cell phone and his pair of earphones out of his jacket pocket and handed Antoine a headset. Without asking any questions, he put it in his place, smiling at the idea that he shares his music with him.

“Do you know Naza?”

“You joking, I love this guy, I love all his sounds!”

Paul chuckled, launching the first music from his favorite playlist.

 

 

Honestly, Pogba did not know how long they had spent singing and talking nonsense, but Antoine's cell phone burst their little bubble and they went down the stairs to go out.

After a few minutes of laughing, they joined the shop, where an upset Jesse was waiting for him, Marcus was trying to calm him without much success, while Paulo joked with Lucas. The older man glared at him, then left without speaking to him and Paul winced because an angry Jesse Lingard was never a good sign.

Marcus shrugged and went behind him to calm him down and Paulo walked over to him.

“Where are the others?” Dybala asked.

Paul did not know if he was pretending not to notice his absence or if he really had, then he nodded to the exit.

 "They left early, Jesse did not look happy.”

“Oh yes, it's true he was looking for you.”

“Any idea of his anger?”

Paulo shrugged, then walked out of the shop after greeting Antoine. Paul sighed, "See you tomorrow night for the five, bye...", clapped his hand with a wink and went away too.

 

 

The rest of the afternoon was not particularly happy because of Jesse's cold anger and the weather that was covering up, so they returned to the apartment.

 

 

As in the good times of Turin, Pogba and Dybala dragged in their room while waiting for the meal and told each other anecdotes. Of course, Paul made him spit the piece to find out what was really going on with Lucas.

When Paulo wanted to do the same thing on Antoine, Paul closed immediately.

“Wait but you really like him, I do not understand,  _why_  do not you try anything with him?”

Paul signed, bored by the subject which kept coming back and left the room to go to the living room. Maybe if he fled, he would avoid the subject. And why did not Paulo let go of that? He could do like Jesse and Marcus: let him drown in his stupidity and stubbornness!

“He's not my style, drop the deal!”

Paulo held his arm as he passed the couch to the terrace, the only place where he would have peace since it was cold. He stopped and turned, ready to confront his best friend who crossed his arms, eyes narrowed, almost upset and glared at him.

“Antoine looks like me and we dated, what do you mean by that?”

Ah, yes,  _that_  . Paul glanced at his roommates to make sure they continued their lives without listening: Jesse had his legs on Marcus' thighs, slumped against his shoulder, as he tried to follow the TV that Paulo and blocked him. Perfect.

“Nothing at all.”

"Liar," Lingard replied.

He opened his eyes and he was not sleeping, fantastic. Paulo turned to him partially and Marcus gave up the idea of following the news; he was just looking at the pictures anyway, who was he hoping to fool?

“Why am I the only one trying to fix him?”

“Yeah, you were not there when Pogs wrote his shitty 'I'm don’t date white people' code.

Heart pounding at full speed, Paulo turned to him, frowning, ready to make him swallow a football by the ass. Paul almost wanted to go back because of this look that reminded him much too much of his mother; Dybi and Yeo were spending too much time together, Paul was going to fix it.

“You did  _what_?”

“Dybi, it's not true, I did not write that,” he defended himself pathetically.

Jesse and Marcus laughed, fake brothers. How to be convincing with such friends? 

"Yes, you did," Marcus said.

"Even if we could have called it 'why Romelu Lukaku should fuck me'.” 

Paul did not blush, but felt his face warm up.

 Romelu Lukaku was a next-door neighbor who had moved in August 2017, a volunteer firefighter and a stretcher-bearer in the hospital, aged 25 as well. He was also Paul's ideal. The first time they met, Paul had missed a step down the stairs and if Romelu had not been there to catch up with him, well Paul would not be as good as now. 1m93 for 80kg of muscles and softness; it did not make sense but it does not matter. He spoke French, loved to dance, knew how to cook and could wear or take Paul against a wall.

After that, Black Panther was out and Chadwick Boseman? Michael B. Jordan? Winston Duke? These actors had haunted his wettest nights and fed the lack of alpha in his life. Despite all his flirting attempts and his constant flirtation, Paul did not know if Rome simply did not understand or if he found him amusing. In both cases, Paul was unsatisfied and may have complained to his roommates for long periods of time.

"The first code is like 'Rom let me get on my knees for you’” Rashford mocked.

“'I am a nice boy, look how I take it well,'” Jesse added laughing.

Yeah Paul sometimes forgot he was hanging around with assholes. He rolled his eyes at their nonsense and looked at Paulo.

“It's totally wrong, I  _never_  wrote that. Even if yes, I prefer black people right now Paulo.”

“It's crazy, just for that you do not want to try anything with Antoine?” Paulo scoffed. “So stop flirting, he really likes you very well.”

“What?”

“Nothing, shut up, do you have a real reason not to go out with him?”

“Because he's not Ole Gunnar Solskjaer,” Jesse mumbled.

Paul was really going to kill that idiot. 

The M crisis, you see? After Mourinho was fired, a brilliant guy replaced him, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer. And Paul's life changed when he arrived, since his sector finally had real lessons, good training for the university team (and so finally money since they had lost too much match recently, not being paid in case of lose), good material for practical work and could ask for help if there was a problem with anything.

Paul had done his homework: Solskjaer was a 46-year-old Norwegian, had studied in the same department as them and could lift Paul's weight in the hall (which was  _very_  important, of course). He was patient, well, took the time to explain or wait for the other person to understand, attentive and attentive to everyone, made sure everyone had what he needed and laughed with all the world.

This guy was the sugar daddy Paul dreamed of secretly at night.

“Paul, still secretive? Who's him again? Why...”

Paulo was cut by his ring on WhatsApp, giving a little respite to Pogba. His face softened when he saw who was calling him; Lucas, no doubt.

“I must take this call.” 

As Paulo went to the bathroom, Jesse continued to laugh at him.

“If you have to write a book about Solskjaer, I have a perfect title 'Difficult relationship: how my boss took my heart... and my ass'.”

“The summary: how my coach kink ruined my studies,” Marcus laughed.

“The first sentence would be kind _, ‘harder daddy, take me harder’_.”

“Fuck you.”

The two idiots laughed, not sorry to expose his kinks; how were they aware, first? He never spoke about it or was not as explicit as that...

Well, apparently he did it, he thought as he entered the bathroom. Who was occupied by Dybi, sitting on the ground who looked up at him.

Paul had gone out with him eight months during their year together in Turin, they had slept together and tried anything and everything, the embarrassment no longer existed between them. When he saw his feverish gaze, his hand over his boxer and his dilated pupils, Pogba just rolled his eyes and went to pee.

Paulo did not know how to say no to a sex call.

While washing his hands, Paul looked at his best friend through the mirror because it was so adorable to see him so close to someone. Paulo stammered something blushing, but a fucking black trace appeared on the top of his cheek.

Pogba turned off the tap, then turned to be sure not to hallucinate and shit, the mark was still there.

“Dybi, come here.”

Dybala glared at him, annoyed at being disturbed in such a moment, but Paul forced him to get up and put him in front of the mirror. His face froze as he noticed the black imprint that was not there ten minutes earlier.

“Lukito, I'll call you back.”

He hung up, left his cell on the sink and rubbed his skin. It was a delusion, how could Paulo have that?

“It does not leave, Paul, it does not leave!”

“Rashy, Lingz, come here!”

They might be idiots, they had met their soul mate and could handle it better than him.

“If it is to show us your cock, abstain yourself!”

“Putain, Paulo had his mark!”

The next second they were with him, inspecting Paulo's face, sitting on the basin, mute with shock. Paul paced, uncomfortable. Fuck. Fuck! How could such a thing happen? Who was the source of his brand, who had touched him, why now? It did not make sense!

Marcus inclined Paulo's face observing it and understanding what it could be, kneeling in front of him, while Jesse was right behind him, frowning. They had been there for two minutes and had not yet opened their mouths to explain anything.

Since when do we see the mark of soulmates? it did not make sense!

"It's like an inch," Jesse finally announced.

"Look, three marks appear," Marcus said.

Paul also saw the marks imprint on Paulo's livid face, like a tattoo, which made him creak in pain. He put his hand on his face, trying to calm the pain, to no avail. They could not do anything...

“Why is he in pain? Did you have pain too? How come?”

Jesse stroked Marcus's neck to get his attention. 

“You explain to Dybs, I take care of Pogs.” 

He then grabbed Frenchman’s elbow to drag him into the kitchen.

So it was the effect we felt when we received the mark of soulmates, it was horrible! His parents were not soulmates, yet they had loved each other and had been happy all their lives together. He knew it to have seen it: no need to meet his half to touch happiness.

The liability of meeting his soulmate was far too unlikely in their world, even though there were machines that calculated the odds of finding his half. Paul did not believe it too much, so he had never been registered or tested, waiting to meet the right person eventually.

But shit, Paulo had met them? He had seen the mark appear  _in the fucking bathroom_  , how was that possible?

“Pogs, drink something.”

Jesse forced him to sit around the central island and gave him a glass of juice, calmly waiting for him to finish asking questions. The ideas a little clear and calmed down, Paul lay the glass blowing.

“What do you know about the mark?”

“It appears when you touch your soulmate for the first time.” 

Jesse scoffed, not believing that this legend still runs the streets. People were so ignorant about soulmates, it almost distressed him. He settled in front of Paul.

“Okay, and?”

“We are not supposed to see his mark, why is it...”

“OK, Pogs, calm down. First of all, tell yourself that all you have seen or read about soulmates is complete bullshit.”

He frowned; he had not really delved into this area, but who was Jesse to say that?

“When you touch your soulmate, the mark can whether appear immediately, or later, it depends on people. Then you can feel it one way or another, or not at all, again it depends. In my case, my mark appeared right away and I had  _so much pain_ , while Marcus’s appeared a month later without pain.”

Paul stared at him because he could not believe that. So if it was true, it meant that anyone could have caused this mark to Paulo! 

“How come? How did you know it was you two?”

Jesse smiled, remembering the memory with affection.

He had arrived the same year as Marcus at college and had made the tests to enter the university football team the same day. Jesse being him, he had joked with Rashford during the warm-up, even if they did not know each other at all, and then parted since they were forwards and midfielder. At the end of the session, Jesse's body ached and he felt like he was a little too forced. Marcus had put his hand on his shoulder blade to ask him how he was doing, but Jesse screamed as if he had been burned, and had gone away, judging his condition more critical than expected.

After that, they continued talking and flirting, unaware of the mark, until one day Marcus noticed the inside of his hand being covered in black. They had spent the evening looking for who he had greeted again, disgusted at not being soulmates. For want of anything better, they decided to go out together until they found the famous person and understood by seeing the ephemeral traces that Marcus left on his body that they had found him.

It had taken them two months to understand that they were meant to be together.

“And if it surprises you, tell you that my friend Dele needed six months to realise that he met his other half, because they spend their time touching each other and they started going out together a year and a half ago.”

“What? Why so late?”

Jesse shrugged.

“They were best mates  _and straight_ , they did not see themselves sucking balls. To meet your soulmate is more than falling in love, it is meeting the one who completes you and helps you to improve. If it works, all the better, but  _nothing_  forces you to marry them, you know?”

“...”

“You see your friend Hugo in London, who hangs with Dele, Eric and Harry, my friends?”

“Yeah?”

“Dele told me that Harry and Hugo were soulmates, yet they are not together; Harry is madly in love about Kate, you have to listen to him talk tirelessly about her. They get along just fine, help each other and sometimes play the middleman when there are arguments or misunderstandings, but no love feelings.”

Paul nodded slowly, letting the new information register in his brain. They had not really learned that kind of thing at school, that surprised him a lot. All he knew was wrong.

He did not have to be with his soulmate? The mark was not immediate? It could hurt? Jesse and Marcus had recognized each other through ephemeral traces, but what was it? He had never heard of it.

He asked Jesse to explain.

“Only the first mark is visible to all, until the one of your other half appears. You can not see it, but as soon as we touch each other, we have traces. In my case, they are immediate, don’t last and I feel heat until they disappear, but for Beans, it is longer, and he feels nothing.”

“Oh…”

“You see, it's really different, you might have missed your soulmate without knowing it. People are poorly informed about this, it's sad.”

Paul nodded again, relieved by this conversation with Jesse, much more mature than he thought. 

Damn, would he have missed his soulmate without having a clue?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have no idea for the future , I take any advice there ... Next OS pogmann: ABO universe. Posted in two weeks in place of this fic. See you xx


	5. Day 4

It was nearly ten o'clock and Paul had not yet come to the living-room to his roommates’ surprise. He was not an early riser, but never sleep in, he would rather hang out in the common rooms in front of the TV, instead of lying in bed.

But Paul had not slept well, turning around again and again because of the previous day's discussion, unable to get out of his head that Paulo was not going to find his soulmate and that he had already failed with no doubts. These thoughts made him want to cry and return to Manchester to forget all that.

He was not in the mood to go out or play football, he felt sleepy. He felt like hibernating until the end of the week to forget and resume his life as if nothing had happened.

The first to try to get him out of there was Rashford, but he did not manage to get him a single word. Lingard ventured to him, but his good mood flew away when he saw his desperate state and he returned to his other half. About twenty minutes later Dybala sat in front of his bed at the level of his head and gently stroked his hair.

“What is it, mi amor?”

Italian. It came to him more naturally with Dybala. They could speak Spanish without being bothered by it, but they communicated more often in Italian so as not to forget how. Paul shrugged his shoulders, barely visible from his curled up position.

“Rien.”

He did not feel like speaking Spanish or English, he wanted French immediately.

Paulo lay down next to him, an arm resting on his loins, a tender smile to the lips, in spite of the half-light. Pogba sadly caressed the tracks on his cheek, which made him wince.

“Yeah, it hurts when someone touches, but otherwise, it tickles a bit... I think Marcus said it would disappear when I'm with my soulmate.”

It was already good. Had he met him in Spain or Turin? Especially since Paulo did not let anyone touch him, maybe he already knew who he was?

It gave him a headache and wanted to cry. He closed his eyes, getting closer to his best friend, but he decided to tickle him to wake him up. Paul groaned to dissuade him from continuing, not in the mood.

"Monsieur is lovely this morning, have you dreamed of me? “

He restrained himself from giggling, because he could not sulk. Not with Paulo. They had only lived together for a year in Turin, but they still could not do without each other, even after two and a half years apart. They could not stand long-distanced-relationship but refused to separate after Paul's departure to Manchester. For almost a year, they had remained "loyal" to each other because they had something strong that united them, then Paulo said to have met someone and step by step, they had managed to fall back in a friendly fraternal relationship, even if they had loved each other.

It might have worked between them, because they had often seen each other in Paris, but things were probably better that way.

“Dybi...”

“Oh, here is my favorite sunshine of Turin…”

He laughs, looking up at him, accustomed to Dybala's Italian.

“I am your only sunshine of Turin.”

“A lot of things happened with Gigi since you left...”

“I am disappointed, I would have preferred that you sleep with Sandro.”

Paulo chuckled, because he knew that Paul hated Sandro more than anything.

“What is happening to you, mi amor?”

“Nothing, today I don’t feel like doing anything, I just want to lay in my bed.”

“I thought you wanted to help me find my other half?”

“I'm your other half, you're my other half, we don’t give a fuck about others.”

“So you do not want to help me break shins, I deduce? I thought we’d see Raphael besides...”

“Guilt doesn’t work, too bad. You almost convinced me. If you make breakfast, I accept.”

“Again? I did it yesterday, Paul.”

“Dybiiii...”

“Vale, vale, but you come with me.”

“Then you give me affection.”

Dybala got out of bed and Pogba didn’t resist when he took him by the hand to guide him to the living room. They had this kind of effect on each other, this situation often happened when they were in Turin: they forced themselves to do something by putting more improbable conditions on top of one another. Once, Paul had to broom and it had ended with both laying out the laundry after shopping, Paulo had paid, and Paul had driven.

That day he thought he'd propose like that. Finally they were in Madrid and they were not the soul-sister of the other.

Clinging to Dybala's back while he was eating again and chattering, Paul answered only in Italian. Jesse did not have the heart to stop him, smiling in Marcus's arms.

While they were chatting in Italian at the central island, Paul's phone rang. He raised his eyebrows at seeing what a merry idiot was calling him, glad to hear from him.

“Alphy, my man, how are you?”

“ _La Pioche, well or what? It's been a long time since we'd seen each other.”_

“What are you saying? We met in Paris when I came back.”

“ _That's what I said, it was a long time ago._ ”

It was two months ago, but Paul was not going to pick up. Dybi's hand in his hair and on his neck made him feel good.

“ _Hey, you go to Spain and you didn’t even warn your guys! It's Raph who told me._ ”

He sneered because Alphonse could be quiet and calm, he sometimes had the tendency to exaggerate innocuous things and to minimize the big damage; it did not make sense.

"Since when do you both speak? And what, wanna come?”

“ _Yeah, I'm bored in Paris alone._ ”

He snorted.

“Ain’t you supposed to be married and dad?”

“ _Are you kidding? She took the little ones and she went to New Caledonia for the off-season, without me, she abandoned me!_ ”

“Ha, that's why you actually wanna come, Nobody’s Boy Remi.”

“ _Shut up, I miss more Raph and Sam than your big head. I invited Thauvin besides._ ”

The massage in his neck made him want to hang up to focus only on Paulo. This call had only lasted too long.

“Okay. We leave Sunday in the morning, try to come Saturday morning or Friday night.”

“ _Do not worry, we got it._ ”

Paul greeted him, hastily hung up to fully concentrate on Dybala's hands and tightened his waist. He chuckled because of his childlike behavior, but happily accepted to put his hand through his hair and neck.

“What do we do today?” He asked.

“This night we do a football with _Antoine_!” Jesse joyfully exclaimed as he stood up. “In the meantime, we can go to a shop for your cheek, Dybs...”

“No, it's painful when someone touches it.”

“A scarf then?” Marcus suggested.

“Yes, why not…”

The call came back to Paul and he stepped away from Dybala to speak:

“We have to see Raph too, we said we spent the afternoon with him.”

“What time?”

"Two o’clock, if that's good for you all.”

Jesse sat on the table and Paul immediately moved his plate away, because he knew him too well to live with him. He took a few steps back to set a safe distance and continued:

“You see the guy who just called me?”

“Yes?” They all say, suspicious.

“It's a friend of Raph and I, we played in the same team and we get along really well. And he will join us on Friday with another guy.”

“ _What?_ ”

“It's not my fault, it's a tradition we have: if one of the guys leaves without warning, others can come. We've been doing this for years, that's how it is.”

Paul was the first to introduce this tradition when he felt that they were losing sight of each other or that clans were forming. This allowed them to travel quite often in the year and to keep in touch.

“The guys are really cool: Flo and Al. They speak English or Spanish, do not worry, everything will be fine.”

Paul does not know it yet, but not everything will be _fine_.

 

"Okay," Jesse agreed, sighing. “It's always fun to meet people, especially your teenage friends: how could they support you so long?”

“No Jesse, how did _your_ childhood buddies stay with you until today?”

Lingard pretended to put sunglasses on his face, full of himself.

“Because everyone loves me, what do you want?”

“Oh my God. Rashy, pick up your boyfriend and get ready.”

Marcus laughed while executing, while Jesse remained dignified while being carried like a princess. Paulo smiled too, happy to find his best friend in his most normal state; having French in his life suited him well, a point he shared with Antoine.

Crap, he really hoped things would move between them, Paul was holding back too much because of his fear of attaching himself to someone who was not living in the same place as him. He could not blame him, they had both fallen into this trap when they started to date; he just did not think that it had marked him so much...

It does not matter, he thought and he headed for the bathroom to start his day.

 

 

At noon, they left the apartment to eat outside again; they had started like this, they would end like this. They did not want to hang out more than necessary before joining Raphael, but if they spend too much time, no doubt it was he who would join them.

No one spoke about his mark, Paulo was very grateful to them. Well, it was not counting Jesse Lingard and his inability to hold his tongue; as they drank their second pint, he stepped into the dish:

“Do you have an idea who it could be?”

Paulo swallowed his drink, while Jesse screamed when he received a kick in the shin from Paul and Marcus winced; he did not want to broach the subject.

“But what?” Lingard dared to feel indignant. “Beans thinks it's Lucas, but it's not him, is it?”

All eyes were on Marcus, who was trying to drown in his glass. Paul raised an eyebrow, curious to know how he could be so sure; even if it was really likely, if what Jesse had told him the day before was true.

“I dunno,” Marcus announced, “I have the impression that you have something identical in the eyes, so...”

“Yeah we can try to find out more tonight,” Paulo replied limply.

"If it's Lucas, I'm breaking his leg," Paul said. “How did he dare to mark you? It's worse than a pregnancy, I dream! Shitty Spaniard, just wait.”

"Just say you can not wait to see Antoine," Jesse mumbled with a smirk.

Funny how he forgot that Paul had long legs and could kick his shin; Jesse shouted again, stared at him and put both feet on his chair to avoid retaliation.

“If he's the one, we even break his two legs.”

Paul pointed to Paulo, who did the same with their significant "tsss" while rolling his eyes, amused. Although they had not been together for nearly three years, they remained very protective of each other, preventing anyone from harming them.

 

Marcus changed the subject without even trying to be subtle:

"Tomorrow, are we going to Warner Madrid?”

His proposal was met with strong affirmative answers, all going to an amusement park.

 

Paul was not really surprised when four o'clock arrived and they had not really moved, enjoying the sun that warmed their skin. Well, Raphael was going to have to join them apparently...

After calling him, they agreed to meet at the Plaza Mayor, then he would guide them through the city to make them discover the cool corners. Raphael was an explorer in his soul, although he liked to stay in the sweetness of his home.

During the journey, they finished digesting and inquired about the destination of the next day to predict the blow. As they approached the square, Paul heard his name being shouted.

“Paul! Paul, over here!”

He turned around and easily spotted Raphael's silhouette as he raised his arm to show him his position and was already coming towards them. Paul wanted to meet him, but one hand held his arm tightly. He turned his head to Paulo, surprised by his intervention.

“What's the matter?”

"Is he Raphael?”

“Yeah...,” he said suspiciously. “Why?”

“Mierda... Paul, I...”

Paulo glanced at Raphael to estimate the distance and know what he was going to say, but grimaced when he saw that he was not going to have enough time.

“Okay, remember the guy I met in September? Cris, the sexy guy who often comes to the cafe where I work?”

Well... Oh yes, Paulo had mentioned someone like that.

“You want to say your sexfriend of the moment? Yes, you told me about him, why?”

“Okay, he’s from Madrid _and_ I came across a picture of his ex, who happens to be your friend.”

“… No you are lying.”

“I swear! Dios mios, it's so embarrassing!”

Paul glanced at the trio that had joined and decided to ignore the calls for help that Raphael threw in his direction, since he did not speak English. Damn, one of his best friend had slept with his ex’s sexfriend. Misery, that's one thing he did not want to know.

“Diby fuck, why did you tell me?”

“Oh, I prefer to be two to be embarrassed,” he affirmed proudly.

“Putain, Diby...”

“Paul?”

Paul turned to hear Raphael's deep but sweet and hesitant voice. Even if they had slept with guys who were sleeping together now, it was still his little Raph. Adorable, shy, determined and friendly, Raphaël Varane; how could he be embarrassed in his presence?

“Raph! The water!

Raphael laughed frantically, narrowing his adorable caramel eyes, before taking him in his arms, in a strong embrace.

“Fire!”

“Raaaaph!”

He tapped gently on his back, before releasing him and grabbing his face that he had missed so much in both hands to see him. Shit, his lips had kissed Cris, who kissed Paulo; it was as if they had actually kissed each other. It was as if they had fucked together, _oh my God!_

Paulo was despicable for planting this idea in his head.

Paul released Raphael a little abruptly, but quickly put a hand on his shoulder to not let him notice his bizarre behavior:

“I introduce you Paulo, my favorite Diby,” he announced in Spanish. “I met him in Turin, but he is originally from Argentina.”

“Enchanted, I am Raphael. It's funny, a friend went to live in Turin in September.”

Paul and Paulo exchanged a meaningful but unobtrusive look, immediately understanding who he was referring to. Damn, it was going to be really embarrassing.

“Welcome, I'm Paulo Dybala, glad to meet one of Paul's friends.”

He had to shorten the exchange between these two, he could not stand knowing what was happening behind his back.

“Have you talked to Jesse and Marcus?”

“Yes, you did not tell me they spoke English.”

“They live in _England_ , of course they speak almost English. _But_ , they can formulate many sentences in Spanish, in fact they speak almost  like that since our arrival, congratulate them! Go ahead, try not to talk too fast, you would make it.”

Paul gently pushed Raphael to the two concerned to make the presentations correctly this time; but especially to move him away from Paulo. He had no desire to feel uncomfortable with two guys they both liked.

Raphael rolled his eyes, amused by his attitude that had not changed.

“Paul, obviously we introduced ourselves, we just wondered why your friend and you had stayed behind.”

“For not much. Anyway, what do you have to show us?”

If Raphael happily accepted his excuse, it was not the case of Jesse, who stared at him, aware that something was going on between them. Having quick-witted friends was not always very pleasant...

Still, he behaved correctly in his presence, he tried to make fun jokes in Spanish, taking pictures everywhere, always ready to pollute social networks. However, he made sure never to let Raphael and Paulo discuss on their own, as if he really understood the problem.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, cutting short his ideas and Paul froze when he saw who was calling him. Shit, shit, _shit_ , it was going to heat up for him! Damn, did his mother spit it out, or did Jesse's nearly constant pics get in his ear? In any case, he would have preferred that it was not him who called him.

He inhaled to give himself courage and answered, under the curious glances of his friends.

“Salut Flo –“

“ _No_ , _don’t ‘salut flo’ me,_ ” cut him off directly. “ _Where are you?”_

Damn, he was in deep shit.

“Florentin...”

“ _No, you haven’t understood Labile: **where are you**?”_

"In Madrid," he sighed.

“ _And what the fuck are you doing in Madrid?!”_

The others did not need to understand what Florentin said to know that he scolded Paul. During all these years to rub shoulders, everyone had to go through the box 'meet the Pogba family'.

If Yeo was an adorable, loving and devoted woman who cared for all of Paul's friends, his brothers had not inherited this side. The twins Florentin and Mathias had a hard time accepting that their little brother had grown up and were treating him like an eight-year-old kid.

Raphael had the chance to only see them at the airport, each time accompanying their younger brother. Every night when the national team met, he called them thirty minutes.

Although he had only lived with him for a year, Dybala had met the Pogba family and if he had hooked up directly with Yeo, his brothers were not as accommodating to him. He had to see them three times to get along well. Even to this day, he did not know if they could not feel him because he had gone out with Paul or because they were just protective.

Marcus and Jesse escaped their mistrust, as they all met one year after Paul moved in with them. But during this period, they had called a lot, including during school time, to take his news.

It was the thing that probably surprised them all: why were they so protect over their brother and why Paul-don’t-command-me accepted that? He granted too much authority to Florentin and Mathias, fearing their anger more than his mother's.

Nobody understood or was really trying to understand why he was doing this.

Despite his embarrassment, Paulo came to stand before Raphael and asked him:

“What is he saying?”

“Oh... he explains why he has not yet visited his brother in Georgia... or Tours.”

“Is it for a long time?”

“When he gets lectured like this? Yeah, we should even continue our tour, he will follow us.”

“OK let's keep moving,” Jesse cut.

Raphael chuckled, but agreed to resume his journey to show them Madrid. Unsurprisingly, Jesse bought a lot of things, unable to withstand his compulsive shopping problem. Even Marcus could not contain his boyfriend, so they decided to go to a restaurant just to order a drink and calm him down.

It had been two hours since they had been running and Paul had not hung up yet, it was worrying. He had lost his guilty look and smiled, so no matter what he said, Paulo knew that the storm had passed.

Although it was disturbing to talk with his sexfriend’s ex, Paulo manages to put aside this disturbing sensation to have a good time with him. He was calm, smiling easily and restful, all that the others were not.

Even _Marcus_ was not as restful, he was currently arguing with Jesse, under their amused gaze. Oh they did not understand anything, but they sipped their drinks until they stopped.

He was eager to see Lucas in the evening to see if the mark was coming from him; he was almost sure of it. Nobody touched his face recently, except for him...

“Paulo? I wanted to ask you something.”

Paulo tensed immediately, realizing his mistake; why had he left Marcus and Jesse with them when he was trying to avoid Varane from the beginning?

“Yes?” He replied anyway.

“You speak Spanish, yet we did not have the opportunity to discuss. Did I do anything to you?”

He could not tell him that they were sleeping with the same guy, though?

“Hey guys, Pogba is back in the game!”

Saved by the gong. Pogba dropped into the last free chair, a beer in his hand, a big winner's smile on his lips.

Paulo raised his eyebrows, he was in a good mood after two hours on the phone.

“You finally finished?”

“Yeah, I talked with Mat and mom too, that's why it was so long. Flo lectured for _forty-five minutes_ , can you imagine? This guy is crazy. And he loves me too much.”

Paulo chuckled, because his own brothers were the same. Every time he looked at Paul, he felt like he saw a reflection of him in a different world. He was really happy to have met him.

 

 

When Paul proposed a futsal to Raphael, he received a positive response and dragged him with them to the _Colchoneros_ stadium.

“With whom are we playing?” Varane asked when the stadium was in sight.

“Some guys we met, you'll see they're really nice. We will be together against them, since they are at home.”

The answer seemed to satisfy him, but the closer he got to the stadium, the less serene he was.

“Where are we going to play?”

“At the stadium, didn’t I tell you?”

“Not really, no.”

“Is there a problem?”

Raphael shook his head, smiling to reassure him. Everything was fine, of course.

When they finally arrived, Pogba and Dybala almost rushed into the souvenir shop for no reason. If one looked sad not to find the person he was looking for, the other smiled frankly and walked towards him. Antoine was at the cashier, waiting patiently for the day to end to close and go relax.

Paul dropped to the counter, just as happy.

_“Griezmann_!”

“Paul! How are you, lad?”

They slapped their hands, forgetting the world around them. Antoine's beautiful blue eyes shone like never before, seeming to light up the whole room.

"I'm glad to see you," Paul announced. “You are looking good?”

“Yeah, the day has been good and continues to be so far.”

“Antoine?”

The pretty brunet looked away to observe Paulo, who seemed worried. Paul leaned back on the counter, curious to know the reason for his discomfort.

“Is Lucas not here?”

“No, he had to solve a problem of last minute, you will be able to see him tomorrow. If you come tomorrow too...?”

“Of course!” Paul agreed.

He did not know what he would do tonight, how would he know what he would do the next day?

“Oh. ¡Varane! ¿Qué estás haciendo ahí?”

Paul watched Antoine, surprised that he knew Raphael.

“How do you know him?”

Antoine frowned, returning his gaze. Antoine's colleagues seemed interested in Varane and began to annoy him.

“He works in the other stadium of Madrid, it's a bit like our rivals, you know? As in Manchester. We often play football together, when there is a match, we get tickets, we watch them together and we drink beer. How do _you_ know him?”

Paul watched his little Raphael gently respond to the other employees, relieved that it was not bad intentions. When he said he was working in a clothing store, none of them had pushed to find out exactly where he was.

His dear Varane had evolved well...

“He's French, we often played together when we were teenagers.”

“Are you serious?”

Antoine cleared his throat, leaning on the counter to elevate himself a little and called out to him:

“Varane! Tu parles français?”

The young man turned his head to him, looked at Paul, hesitant to answer the question, then opened his mouth:

“Yeah? You too?”

“Yeah, I did not know, I always thought you were Spanish by birth!”

Paul laughed because the world around him was really small. What was the liabilities that his little Varane knew Antoine Griezmann?

Pressure on his lower legs made him jump and he looked down to find the adorable Mia, who was reaching out to him.

“Po! Po!”

He did not make her wait to lift her and blow her gently in the air. She laughed with the same brilliance as Antoine, the worthy daughter of her father. He then put her on the counter, watching the young dad with affection.

“I am impressed, she knows my name... Griezmann father would have talked so much to Griezmann daughter of me?”

Antoine snorted, but did not answer. He turned to the laptop on a desk behind him.

“A friend of mine sent me this music, I wanted to make you listen to it.

Antoine connected his phone to the laptop, clicked a few more times and piano notes began to resonate.

 

[Play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37LktYxDrdc)

_Come, I take you with me, all night I dreamed of that, build a villa in Kinshasa, yeah..._

 

Paul looked at Antoine smiling, because the sound already looked good, the words touched him and Antoine hummed as he looked at him straight.

 

_Come I take you with me, all night I dreamed of that..._

 

He grabbed his daughter's hands to start making her dance to the rhythm of the drums, repeating this sentence, looking at him every time.

To tell you the truth, the sound was really cool, he felt himself dancing on it without needing to be asked. The voices told him something more. Damn…

What astonished him the most was that Antoine managed to sing the parts that were _not_ in French. And just, wow. Paul found this particularly sexy.

The music ends quietly, " _Come I take you with me, Come and take me with me, Come and take me with me, Come and take me with me, Come and take me with me, "_ and Antoine continued to say that by looking him straight in the eyes.

Damn, how long could he keep saying that he was not interested and that Antoine Griezmann was not doing him any good? Because it was absolutely the opposite. He had to move away or give in to pressure, no other choice.

Was not this guy supposed to be straight anyway? Why bother to hit on Paul with so much energy?

 

“So?”

Antoine asked him, while the following music chained with lyrics in Spanish.

“That’s good, who sings?”

“I can not tell you, it would betray my friend.”

“Hey Antoine! La vie de ma mère, ça fait cinq fois en une heure, stop now!”

Paul jumped, clearly not expecting to hear French, and turned around to see a sister with long black braids arrive, looking annoyed. She leaned against the counter, forgetting that a potential client was there.

“For God’s sake, five times in an hour, wesh. _We’re done, no_? We understand, take your ticket, go to Kin, but stop putting it!”

“But it was for Paul...,” he began to defend himself.

“No, I don’t care, you stop. If I hear it again, I’ll break your phone.”

Antoine laughed when he saw her seriousness, raised his hand and she tapped it in sneer, as for a joke they were the only ones to understand. Paul wisely waited for the rest because he was perplexed.

“Aïssa, I introduce you to Paul, the guy at the rink.”

“Ha, the bleachers guy,” she said with a meaningful smile.

So they were already rumors on him, great.

“Paul, here is Aissatou. She is a Parisian, she moved to Madrid in September for a year of college, she works part time with us. She still does not speak Spanish, of course.”

The last sentence was like a reproach, but she ignored it and Paul smiled at her, because Paris was his home.

“Where are you from?”

“91 and you?”

“From 77.”

They clapped their hands, immediately understanding where the other was coming from. He liked her.

A few minutes later, someone else was added to the group. Why did so many people gravitate around Griezmann? The brown guy dropped on Antoine with a big smile, as if he found his friend and wanted to ruffle Aissa's hair, but she went away.

“Hey c’m’on don’t touch me, we ain’t friends.”

She stared at him, then left. Had she really spoken to him in French?

“What did she say?” The Madrilenian asked in Spanish.

He looked older than Antoine and barely taller than he was, perhaps the presence of his beard made his impression of his age. He was wearing a red T-shirt and a gym bag, did he come for the match?

"Nada," Antoine answered, rolling his eyes. “Paul, this is Koke; I do not know why, but he likes me.”

“Hey! I do not speak French, speak Spanish!” The famous Koke reprimanded him.

“Vale, vale... Koke, this is Paul. I met him at the ice rink... and he was the one you saw yesterday.”

“Oh, the famous bleachers guy! Nice to meet you!”

Paul did not even want to know what they had been able to say about what they had done in the bleachers.

 

When the staff was complete, they closed the shop, ranged quickly and went to the pitch. Paul really liked Wanda Metropolitano, and Marcus was turning into a fanboy because he was really weird. If Paulo did not seem so excited about playing football, Jesse could not keep up.

They changed into more used training suits, made two laps while Koke ( _like the professional football player!_ ) Installed the equipment he used to use during his training. Since they were only ten to play, he decided to make a space of the same size as futsal.

They juggled a little together and the quickest to go to Antoine was Koke, not Paul. He sighed, but agreed to stretch with Raphael. He was not disappointed - he clearly could not be disappointed when Paulo was on the edge of tears because of Lucas' absence.

“We will be against Antoine, you should be careful, he is a bit aggressive as a guy.”

“Other useful info?”

“Koke often passes him the ball, it's a good duet. They have known each other for almost five years.”

Good. We just had to hope that all these years spent playing with his friends were going to bear fruit. There was no chance that it would end badly, right?

Since they were two extra, they decided to roll as soon as a team took a goal. Well, they could have joined the two teams, but Aïssatou did not want to be in Antoine-get-out-to-Kin's team and could not play against roughs because of her recently straddled ankle. The other player on the sidelines, Thomas, if he remembered well, wanted to play with Mia, so that did not bother him.

“He Paul, don’t be too sad when we win,” Antoine teased before starting.

“Move from here Griezmann, look carefully how we will beat you!”

Paul pushed him gently, causing laughter on both sides, and advanced to his provisional team. Since he knew them all and knew how to express himself correctly in each language, it was the most natural thing for him to become a captain.

“Rashy and Dybi, you will be in attack. Raph, to the goal. Jesse and I are going to defend. Watch out for the passes, and beware of Griezmann, Raph told me he was head-heated on the ground. It's a friendly match, ok Jesse?”

"I will not do anything if no one touches Beans," he answered innocently.

Paul sighed and accepted this dubious answer. They were playing against a pro, little chance they won, but they wanted to know the difference between them and him.

When the match started, they were surprisingly the first to score, a good pass from Lingard to Rashford. They put in a second, and it was at that moment that things seemed to become serious.

“He Griezmann, we are waiting for you!” Paul provoked him.

Maybe he should not have... In the next few minutes, he realized that Antoine did not just have a pretty face and was wearing an aggressive name very well. He was as keen as Jesse, ready to pick up all the balls and knew how to force the players to make distracted passes.

In addition he was shooting well.

He exchanged an incredulous glance with his teammates, uncertain of the way forward. Was it still a friendly match or were they going to win?

Paul knew Rashy, Jesse, Dybala and their competitive spirits. He sighed, but agreed to go into their game. Anyway, they ran so much that Paul had only to make good passes and get the ball, no need for more.

After several rolls, Antoine left the field to let Aïssa enter his place, and insisted that she did not want to make her ankle worse and that it was only a friendly match. Paul chuckled, but arranged for Jesse and Rashy to play nicely.

Five minutes later, he left his place to the other woman in the group, Aurélie, to talk with Antoine. He was sure no one was going to talk for a while to leave them alone.

_“Griezmann_.”

“What’s your deal with my name?” Antoine laughed.

He dropped down beside him, smiling at the sight of the dad who was guarding his daughter in his lap, no doubt to protect her from the cold. He was attentive, saying that a few minutes earlier he could have broken his leg...

“I dunno, it sounds good. _Griezmann_ . That's what is flocked on your shirt besides.”

“Ha, that. A gift from Koke. All my jerseys come from him.”

OK, it was a little suspicious _and_ Paul did not like that much.

“What? I told you, he likes me for no reason. He likes Mia even more.”

“Normal, she is adorable. Why do you hold her as if your life depended on her? I've never seen you squeeze her so much.”

Antoine smiled seductively and Paul wanted to hit him to be so beautiful.

“I am a very affectionate guy...”

They burst out laughing because it was irrelevant.

“No, it's just that...” He sighed, kissed his daughter's head and hugged her with more tenderness. "Tomorrow I have to leave her at her mother's house, I do not have enough time with her..."

Ah, Antoine had said that his wife was Basque, that explained that she did not live in Madrid with them. Paul nodded with a smile, not showing that it hurt him to hear that phrase; obviously he was still with his daughter's mother.

No matter how good they got along with each other, Antoine was not the right person for him, after all... If he had to drag him around without realizing it now?

“We had planned to go to Warner Madrid tomorrow.”

He preferred to change the subject and not show his pain. He had no desire to attach if it was not reciprocal.

“Serious? We have discounted rates with the club.”

“You kidding?”

“No, I swear. We've all been there two or three times. It's nice. Do you want me to ask my manager? I take them for you, then you pay them back,” Antoine proposed naturally.

“You would do that? That would be so cool, why do not you come with us?”

Antoine looked surprised at his proposal, hesitated between smiling and frowning, before finally laughing.

“Because I have Mia? That I have to drop her? That I resume work at two o'clock? If I come, it will be necessary to go there at the opening, which is eleven thirty; an hour before I go to her mother's house. Thank you Paul, it's really cool but I think it will be without me...”

“Oh…”

“Besides, if you go, you must stay at least until closing, I think it is around midnight.”

"So you tell me we will not see you tomorrow?"

Antoine made the quick calculation in his head, before displaying an air annoyed, almost pouting.

“Yeah…”

“I'll talk to the guys. Is it really worth it to go there?”

“Of course Paul! You will not deprive yourself for me, we will see Friday at worst.”

He sighed, but said nothing. He did not want to wait until _Friday_ to see Antoine. Maybe he was already more attached than expected.

When Jesse gave up on his place, Antoine did not wait to return to play. Lingard's reactivity really surprised him, he was so dumb and childish most of the time.

"What's the matter with Raphael, Dybs, and you?"

Obviously. He did not forget things that Paul wanted him to forget.

“Dybi sleeps with Raphael's ex.”

“Oh. Awkward…”

“Yep.”

“Do you still plan to bury your head in the sand about Antoine?”

“Yep.”

“You're annoying.”

He sighed as Paul shrugged, Mia in his arms. Jesse may have been silly, but he never insisted when he refused to speak.

“What did he say? You seemed to be doing an emotional roller coaster ride.”

“I invited him to Warner Madrid with us since they have cheap tickets, but he must drop Mia at her mother's _and_ if we want to enjoy the park, we will not be able to see each other tomorrow.”

“... So he's divorced?”

Where did this question come from?

“No, his wife is Basque, remember? Maybe she has stuff to do there.”

“He never said she was his wife anyway. I take it you do not want to go to Warmer Park anymore?”

“I don’t know... Yes, it can be cool...”

OK, he was absolutely no longer motivated to go, he wanted to spend as much time as possible with Antoine before returning to Manchester. Paulo was missing Lucas, he might be upset if he spent another day without his crush.

Shit, did he really use his best friend as an excuse? So lame...

“Add him on snapchat, so you can talk and you can contact him at Man. I still can’t believe you haven’t got his number, while even Paulo has Lucas's since _Sunday_.”

“Because I was not interested. - And I still am not.”

“Yea, sure. Know that neither Marcus nor I are going to abandon the park, so not happening.”

He laughed: that would not have surprised him.

Paul returned to the field when Koke went out to play with Mia. He was in the same team as Antoine, opposite Rashy, Dybi, Thomas, Aurélie and a colleague, whose name had escaped him. He had only played with Raphael, but he was going to adapt to the Spanish game.

Like earlier, he did not need much running or recovering, just enough passes. Raphaël and Aïssa did excellent work in defense, Antoine and his colleague were doing an attack, they did not really need him.

Yet he was happy, he wanted to enjoy as much as possible with them.

_With Antoine_.

 

The end of the game came too early for his like, when Mia started crying, when Koke's phone kept ringing to know where he was and Aissa's tingling in her ankle. God.

They all congratulated each other for the game, exchanged a few handshakes and began to tidy up. Koke's wife called again and he hurried off to avoid problems at home, amusing the small group.

Pogba wanted to walk to Dybala to find out how he was doing, but Varane stopped him.

“Paul, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“On... we do not know yet. No doubt the Warner Park, why?”

“Samuel comes tomorrow in the early afternoon, I get it back when I finish the job. I have discounts for the park if you want?”

“Oh, you're so lovely Rapha, but Griezmann has already passed you for that. You can call me when you arrive at the park.”

“Cool, I tell him that then!”

Paul nodded, greeted him quickly to get the tickets and try to scratch a few more minutes with him. He had to talk to Paulo, he wanted to know what he thought before doing anything...

He caught the Argentinian in the hallway leading to the locker room, while he was drinking water from a bottle.

“Dybi!”

He paused and turned, curious to know his eagerness, but eager to take a well-deserved shower. Paul quickly explained to him the situation and the impasse for the next day, as they advanced, anxious for his reaction.

At the end of his soliloquy, Paulo simply sighed, tired and almost jaded by the events ahead.

"Anyway, we came to visit Madrid, not to visit Lucas' bed, huh?”

Paul put his arm on his shoulders, sympathetic to his misfortune. To know that he would not see Antoine the next day was a big blow to him.

About fifteen minutes later, they joined the hall with the other players, where Aïssa and Aurélie were playing with Mia. Antoine spoke with one of his colleagues, but ceased as soon as he saw them arrive and came to meet him smiling at him.

“I have tickets, but the park is closed at this time of year apparently.”

He frowned, because he was not ready to play the emotional roller coaster, okay? He did not want false joy.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I just called him to get tickets and he kindly told me to fuck off because the park is closed in the winter.”

He could not help but laugh.

“Ha, too bad.”

“ _So_ , I can take you to our nice place for the morning.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds downright cool.”

Someone in the background groaned and their little bubble burst. They turned to Aïssa, who gave them a disapproving look.

“Your sexual tension is disgusting, I'll tell Koke.”

“What? _No!_ Anyway, you still do not know how to speak Spanish.”

She pointed at Aurelie, who was probably going to be the translator. Paul did not even understand how she had done to be engaged if she did not speak the language.

“But shit, he will be hellish...,” Antoine grumbled, already helpless.

He chuckled, but a slap on his shoulder made him turn to Jesse and Marcus, and he realized the conversation had been in French. Oops.

He summed up the outline in English and Spanish for Dybi, and the reactions were not surprising: Paulo beamed almost with joy, while the couple cried almost in despair. He liked that a lot, he was not going to hide it.

 

They took the road out of the stadium, chatting quietly. Antoine glanced at the girls, not surprised that Mia fell asleep in Aurelie’s arms. He will miss her while she was at her mother's house.

“Griezmann, where are we going tomorrow?”

He looked at Paul, continuing to put 'discrete' shots with the back of his hand toward his, to make him understand his intentions. Paul did not react physically but did not move away either.

“It's a surprise.”

“You have to tell me; how do you want us to come otherwise?”

Oh, he had not thought that far, what an idiot.

“Give me your address then, I come to get you in the morning by car.”

“I send it to you by message if you want.”

“Is it a roundabout way to ask for my number? Paul, are _you actually hitting on me?”_

He looked falsely surprised and Paul burst out laughing, then gave him a nice shot behind the head.

“Don’t play dumb, if I tell you you'll forget.”

“I'm always happy to give my number to sexy guys.”

"Tomorrow we will not see each other, actually.”

“I’m joking Paul, come on!”

Paul put his arm over his shoulders laughing and took his phone out of his jacket pocket to finally get his number.

Maybe Griezmann was married, but Paul liked him a little more each day he knew him. He was a good person, met at the wrong time. Had they met in other circumstances and much earlier, no doubt their relationship would have been different.

This thought squeezed his heart, but he did not know if it was sadness or joy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antoine pushed open the door of his apartment, which he shared with Lucas, exhausted. He held Mia in one arm and their things on the other. He had to make food and knowing that he had to leave her to Erika pissed. Him. Off.
> 
> “Antoine, _mira_! _Mira_ , I have my mark, it's super weird.”
> 
> Antoine looked at him, bored. He did not have time for his bullshit and drama.
> 
> “You should’n have put your fingers anywhere.”
> 
> “But Antoooo ...!”
> 
> Damn, he had an outing to organize and _he had no idea what he was going to do._

**Author's Note:**

> So, what do you think about it?  
> See you next time! xx


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